Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rain.

Ray Garraty smelled rain.

The scent hit him fast and hard as he unlocked his mother’s arms from around his neck. Of course, there was a plethora of other scents wafting from the clusters of boys sitting beneath the red oak tree just ten feet away from him. Sweat, spice, musk, fear. He caught glimpses of his own scent spiking to mingle with the others. Eucalyptus and menthol. Sharp, slightly medicinal. Something that never failed to rack a shudder through his frame if he thought about it for too long.

Doctors…We were just playing doctors. It wasn’t even my idea–

His knees buckled when he took his next step. He could feel his mother at his back, the half-aborted motion of her reaching out for him. There was a swell of honey-scented air, slightly soured with worry. She probably had it in her head that it was nerves. The fear finally catching up to him. But she made no further move to touch him. Cold, clammy hands grasping at nothing but a blank space. As if her son was already gone and not standing right in front of her.

Ray righted himself. He took a deep breath, lifting his nose into the air in an effort to pinpoint just where the scent was coming from. The rain was a sweet smell. Like a summer storm. He immediately felt his body being engulfed by an eerie calmness. He was no longer a dead man walking towards his grave. He was walking on air. He was in the clouds. One more step and he’d tip right over. He’d be falling–

flying

–towards a new world. A world where the Long Walk didn’t exist. You couldn’t Walk if your feet never touched the ground.

The scent cut off abruptly. Ray’s shoes skidded noisily on rocks. The soldiers up ahead, waiting to check bags and instill fear in the hearts of boys everywhere, eyed him like a hawk zeroing in on a mouse. Somewhere, the safety of a carbine clicked off. They probably thought he was a runner. His mom made a choked noise behind him. He could still remember her words from the car ride over.

The Major, she had said as if that meant anything. The Major would understand.

The Major, he had wanted to say, took one look at my name and stamped his approval.

But he had wisely kept his mouth shut and eyes pointed out the window as the state he had grown up in and knew so little about whizzed past him in green and yellow blurs.

A dark-skinned boy was walking past him now, gait as sure and strong as a soldier marching off to battle. He slung his pack around his shoulders to the front of his chest for inspection. He was unfairly fit, compared to Ray’s own stocky frame. The boy’s body was chiseled, a sculpture come to life. The only imperfection was a large white scar on his right cheek, spanning from eye to lip. Even then, it only seemed to amplify his features. Michaelangelo’s masterpiece tarnished by time yet still standing proud.

His scent was muted, dull. Ray could just barely pick out something earthy and pure. Like freshly lain soil. With a scent so sparse, he must be a beta.

The soldier unoccupied with inspecting the boy’s bag gestured for Ray to walk forward. The handsome boy turned to look at him, his lips twitching a fraction before he settled back on an aloof exterior. So calm and cool in the face of imminent danger. Ray clicked his mouth shut, unaware he had let it hang open as if he was just another scent-drunk idiot, and walked over to get his own bag inspected.

After he was done, he caught up with the boy, not sure why he wanted to be so close to him. Like a dog begging for scraps.

“Hey, uh, I’m Ray Garraty,” he said and held out a hand.

The boy glanced at him. His eyes, so rich and deep with untold stories, sparkled with life.

“Pete. Peter McVries.”

They shook hands. Ray almost gasped out loud at the first brush of contact. A fire was lit somewhere inside him, rushing through his veins and making the skin at the back of his neck warm and sticky. His mind flashed back to a time when he was younger and more naive. Playing doctors with a boy whose smile made Ray’s stomach hurt.

“Nice to meet you,” Ray forced out, feeling like his tongue was ten times bigger than it should be.

Pete gave him a thoughtful look, assessing him for only a moment before he let their hands fall. They were closer to the other boys now, a swarming of voices and scents permeating the air.

“Hey, whaddya weigh?” Pete asked.

“178.”

“I’m 177. They say heavier guys get tired quicker.”

Pete generously eyed him from top to bottom, licking his lips. Ray felt heat rise to his face and let his feet carry him forward even as his mind screeched to a stop.

We were only playing doctors…

“Shit,” Ray said.

A huff of laughter followed him, and he got a glimpse of perfect, pearly white teeth flashing at him. Butterflies erupted in Ray's stomach.

“Look at Superman.”

They had come upon the others now. It seemed they were the last to join the party. Everyone was either slouched over on the ground in an ungraceful sprawl or meticulously massaging limbs and stretching muscles. Ray was referencing a muscled blonde boy lounging on the pavement like they were at recess and not about to walk for their lives.

“Yeah, he built,” Pete agreed.

Ray couldn’t help but feel a surge of smug satisfaction when he noticed that Pete hardly glanced at the blonde boy. He had looked at Ray.

“No body fat on that guy. Jesus,” Ray huffed, sitting down. Gravel poked uncomfortably at his bottom, but that was irrelevant when he felt the warm, solid presence of Pete at his side. “He’s gonna be tough to beat.”

The sound of crunching tires had him looking over his shoulder. His mother was pulling out now. He wouldn’t see her again for a few days. If he made it that long. He knew she didn’t approve of him signing up. But he also knew that she knew why he had to do it, even if she didn’t quite understand it. He shook his head and eyed the blonde boy. A quick sniff picked up traces of wood and something like fire.

“Hey,” he called. “What’s your name?”

The blonde looked around, clearly uncomfortable with being addressed.

“Stebbins.”

“Jesus, Stebbins,” a new voice piped up. Ray turned and saw a short Asian boy sitting close by. “You some kind of fitness nut?”

Stebbins glowered and pulled his hat down. It was the type that paperboys used to wear and somehow made him appear younger than he was. He removed himself from the conversation with a rush of smoke. Ray scrunched his nose at the scent, resisting the urge to sneeze.

“Well, I don’t think he wants to talk,” Pete drawled beside him, grinning at Ray like it was an inside joke just between the two of them.

It occurred to Ray that Pete must be amused at his attempts at chivalry. But he wasn’t offended in the slightest. After all, you didn’t sign up for the Long Walk to make friends.

“Yeah, alright. Fine by me. I don’t give a shit,” groused the Asian boy. The air around him held the distinct tang of lemon. He addressed Ray and Pete with a crooked smile. “Hank Olson’s the name. Walking’s my game.”

“I’m Ray Garraty. You can call me Ray.”

“Peter McVries. You can call me McVries.”

McVries. His introduction with Ray had gone differently. Pete, he had said.

“I’m Art Baker,” said the dark-skinned boy beside Hank. His scent was calmer and reminded Ray of older women with fancy hats and pearl necklaces. Jasmine. “Pleasure to meet y’all.”

“It’s fucking terrifying, ain’t it?” Pete asked, nodding to the road.

“Yeah, but I ain’t tryin’ to think about it too much,” Art said. “Just wanna walk and maybe make some friends.”

A blonde boy to his left eyed him incredulously, like maybe he thought Art was stupid or insane. Maybe both.

Aw, hell, Ray thought. What’s the harm in making some buddies to pass the time? After all, for the next few days, they’ll be all I've got.

“So, what are you guys, huh?” Hank asked after a beat of contemplative silence. “Me? I’m just your regular ol’ docile beta at your service. Anytime you need a hand, I’m your man.”

“You always gotta rhyme?” Pete demanded.

“If you’ve got the time,” Hank shot back with a wink.

Pete rolled his eyes but laughed along with Ray and Art. Ray decided he really liked the sound of Pete’s laugh. He hoped to hear it more often, circumstances be damned.

“I’m a beta too,” Art said.

“Count me as three,” Pete said with his own dramatic wink directed at Hank.

Hank laughed loudly, startling some of the boys milling around their group. The blonde boy by Art seemed to jump right out of his skin.

“I’m an alpha,” Ray said.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Hank called. Docile. Right. “But you don’t smell like any alphas I’ve ever met.”

Ray felt his ears heat up and looked down at his knees. How many times had he heard that one?

Such an odd scent for an alpha…

You smell kind of sweet, don’t you?

“Must’ve not met many alphas then,” he said quietly.

“I like your scent, Ray,” Art said, eyes soft and inviting. “It’s soothing.”

“Thanks, Art.”

“What a perfect beta,” Hank said, nudging Art good-naturedly.

Lemongrass and jasmine swirled through the air, potent and sweet. Ray wondered if they were aware they were doing it. His mom hadn’t liked it when Ray’s eucalyptus and menthol mingled with his scent that day. Said it wasn’t right and threatened to send him to bed without supper when he had asked why.

Movement in Ray’s peripheral caught his attention. A scrawny boy with a shock of orange curls was hugging himself with a troubled look on his face.

“Hey,” Ray called out to him. “Hey, are you okay?”

The boy smelled like sweat and shoe polish. He quickly extracted his arms from around his stomach and pointed to himself with a shaky finger.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you’re pacing. Are you okay?”

“I’m just getting warmed up.”

He tried to save face by giving their group a sunny smile, but it was drowned out by his pale complexion and sunken eyes.

“You have a few hundred miles to get warmed up when we start,” Pete smartly pointed out. “What’s your name?”

“Curley.”

“Okay, Curley. How old are you?” Came Ray’s next question because there was no way in hell that the boy was old enough to be here.

Curley puffed his chest out like that would somehow give age to his youthful face.

“18.”

“Yeah, that kid lied to qualify,” Hank muttered before raising his voice. “Kid, if you’re a day over 16, I eat my fucking shoes.”

Curley’s smile dimmed at Hank’s words, and he left without responding.

“Look at him. Poor fucker don’t know what the fuck he’s doing here. Now, me? I know exactly what the fuck I’m doing here,” Hank said. “You gotta be aggressive. Alright, I did my research on the Major. And he said you wanna win this thing, you gotta be raring to rip. Fuck, boys, I am raring to rip!”

“Fuck, boys, I am raring to rip,” Pete mimicked in a goofy voice.

A round of chuckles went through the group. The blonde boy next to Art joined in with them.

“‘Raring to rip,’” he giggled. Ray thought it was kind of cute, if not a little irritating. “My meemaw on the bowl in the morning, man. Right, guys?”

The laughter slowly petered out. The blonde boy glanced around at them with wide, frantic eyes. He was a man in the desert searching for water, for salvation. It didn’t look like he was going to find any here. A sharp, spicy scent rose up the longer he was subjected to their blank faces. It made Ray’s eyes water.

“The fuck is a meemaw?” Hank eventually asked.

“Fuck you,” the blonde said with a halting, wheezy laugh. “I was just fucking around.”

The boy tried to keep a smile on his face, wanting to appear unaffected, but Ray could feel his embarrassment and hurt like a hundred bee stings to the kisser. He took pity on the boy and asked for his name.

“Gary Barkovitch,” he said, amusement gone from his voice.

“What’s your classification?”

Barkovitch’s eyes skittered to the side.

“Beta,” he mumbled and twisted his shoulders to face away from them.

They had already driven away three people, and they weren’t even walking yet. So much for making friends, Ray mused.

“Here he comes,” Art said, sitting up straight.

Ray looked over at the road to see a half-track steadily approaching. A rush of patchouli washed over them, heavy and powerful. It emanated from the man standing stoically behind the driver’s seat, strong hands gripping the rail as he surveyed them behind dark aviators. Rumor had it that the Major’s eyes were always a deep alpha red. Incapacitated by a life of war, they could never go back to their original hue. He was never seen without the sunglasses in public because of it.

“Sh-Shit on a stick,” a bespectacled boy stuttered out. He got to his feet, along with what appeared to be half of the crowd. “It’s th-the M-Major.”

The sharp stink of boy sweat and fear tripled. Ray wiggled his nose and busied himself with cramming a bucket hat on his mop of dirty blonde hair. Already, he could feel the sun’s rays piercing through the thin material. A fine layer of moisture settled on the top of his scalp, sweat dotting the tips of his ears. He knew he should’ve bought a new hat for the occasion, but he had felt silly perusing the nicer caps at the shopping mall with his mom. Why waste money on a new hat when he might never get to wear it again?

“Sit down, boys,” the Major commanded as the half-track came to a stop. “Keep Hint 13 in mind.”

Ray pulled the brim of his hat down to cover more of his face as the Major’s gaze swept across their group. He had the ridiculous urge to shield Pete from those glinting aviators and stern, frowning mouth. The last time he had been this close to the Major had been that night. That fateful night when the air was thick and damp with humidity, smelling like his mom’s roasted chicken and the crisp beginnings of fall. When the Garraty family was treated to soldiers barging into their house for dessert instead of the blueberry pie his mom had spent all afternoon baking.

She had almost forgotten to get blueberries at the store, but had rushed back to the produce section in the middle of paying, shouting at the cashier that her son, her wonderful son, just loved blueberry pie and would you wait just a minute, pretty please? He had been treated to the stunning vision of her twirling around the kitchen, blueberry juice smeared on her cheek and one corner of her mouth, when he had gotten home. She had playfully swatted at his hands with her spatula when he had tried to sneak a few blueberries for a treat of his own, and he had been forced to watch as she put the finishing touches on the pie before sticking it in the oven.

His father had put on a dramatic display of going weak in the knees when he had stepped through the door just as food was being set on the table. Ginnie Garraty had laughed and elbowed him aside when he tried to swoop in for an eager kiss. Chicken was greedily consumed, half a wine bottle and a healthy serving of ice-cold lemonade neatly polished off by his parents and himself, respectively. His mother was humming a pretty tune as she brought their dishes to the sink, sending Ray a wink as he eyed the pie cooling on the counter. His father was handing him his baseball, asking if he fancied a game of catch to make room for the pie they were absolutely going to devour once the timer went off. And that’s when the soldiers had made their grand entrance into the Garraty household.

“Hint number 13. It’s conserve energy whenever possible.”

Ray blinked and came face to face with the road between his feet.

“Shut up, Olson,” Pete said, eyes locked on the Major. “We all read the rulebook.”

“Now,” the Major said. “When I call your name, step forward and take your tag. Put ‘em around your neck and then go back to your place until I instruct otherwise.”

Ray swallowed down a heavy lump in his throat. The Major’s voice echoed in his head, accompanied by the harsh bang of a gunshot fired beneath a moonless night.

Ewing, James. Number 1.

Baker, Arthur. Number 6.

“Hey, did he say anything to you?” Ray asked Arthur, unable to help himself.

“Yeah, uh…The Major talked to me,” Arthur said shyly.

Sanders, Rank. Number 19.

McVries, Peter. Number 23.

Pete sat back down with the tag shining around his neck. He wasn’t as close to Ray as he had been before. Ray could feel the space between them like a solid thing. A gaping maw that threatened to swallow him up whole if he tried to close the distance.

Stebbins, Billy. Number 38.

Olson, Hank. Number 46.

Ray felt his jaw clench when the Major gave a rusty laugh at whatever Hank said. He clapped the beta on the back and called out the next name.

Garraty, Raymond. Number 47.

Ray carefully unfolded his legs. Each step felt heavy as he brought himself up to the Major’s half-track. He yanked the tag out of the soldier’s hands, eyes steadily locked on the Major. But the man was already moving on to the next name.

Parker, Collie. Number 48.

Ray didn’t sit back down as the last few names were called. His muscles were bunched up, menthol scent so sharp he was afraid it’d burn a hole in his nose. He could feel the eyes of the other boys on him, wary of his sudden shift in mood.

“Now, fellas. Line up by fives,” the Major commanded, “in no particular order.”

There was the telltale sound of bodies shuffling as they moved to do as asked.

Just like soldiers.

“Boys, it takes a heavy, heavy sack to sign up for this contest,” the Major started. “You’ve all got it. You’re men now.”

Ray didn’t have to look to know that the other boys, particularly the younger ones stupid enough to lie on their applications, were eating up the Major’s words. He could hear the faint crinkle of paper as someone anxiously fiddled with something in their hands.

“As you all know, our country has been in a period of financial struggle since the war. And we did the first Long Walk all those years ago to inspire and reintegrate the value of work ethic.”

A group of soldiers went around, handing out what appeared to be utility belts with snap pockets. Each pocket contained a tube of paste meant to be their food for the day. Probably the same ones astronauts used all the way up in space. They were also given a canteen of ice-cold water and a wristwatch that calculated their speed and how many miles they’d walked.

“Each year after the event, there’s a spike in production. We have the means to return to our former glory. Our problem now is an epidemic of laziness. You boys are the answer. The Long Walk is the answer. When this is broadcast for all the states, your inspiration will continue to elevate our gross national product. We will be number one in the world again!”

There was a hoarse shout of, “Yeah!” from the boys. Ray caught Stebbins’ face twisting into a brief smirk. Chumps, it seemed to say.

“Now, uh, I’m not going to go through the whole rulebook, but it boils down to this. Walk until there’s only one of you left. Maintain a speed of three miles per hour. If you fall below the speed, you get a warning. If you can’t make speed in ten seconds, you get an additional warning. Three warnings, you get your ticket.”

Hank popped something into his mouth when he thought no one was watching. Art pressed his lips to the rosary hanging around his neck.

“Walk one hour at speed, one warning is erased, and so on. If you interfere with your fellow Walker at any point, you get a warning. If you step off the pavement, you will get your ticket without warning. The goal is to last the longest. There’s one winner and no finish line.”

The stink of fear was becoming stronger now. Ray held onto the straps of his pack, crossing his arms like a dead man waiting to be buried.

“You don’t need to be an alpha to take home that Prize. Any of you can win. Any of you can do it if you walk long and steady enough. If you refuse to give up. I look at each and every one of you, and I see hope.”

Hope, Ray snorted. I’m beginning to remember how to spell that word.

“Now, boys, who’s set to fucking win?”

Another chorus of “Yeah!” went up. Chests were heaving, legs were bouncing, hearts were racing.

Alright, boys, start your engines!

“I said, who’s ready to fucking win?”

“YEAH!”

A single gunshot pierced the sky.

Ray Garraty started walking.

Chapter Text

Were my steps always this loud?

Ray had the sudden, insane urge to stop. When he got his first warning, would he just freeze? Would he be the first one to get his ticket, standing ten steps from the starting line, because his legs simply refused to move another inch? He stamped down the thought, feeling idiotic and vaguely suicidal.

Instead, he focused on the other Walkers. Pete was beside him, keeping pace with Ray and tugging on a flannel shirt as the wind picked up. Art and Hank were ahead of them, talking in low voices, their scents still intertwined. Barkovitch was smack dab in the middle, looking at everything through the lens of a camera.

A foul odor picked up as they passed a rotting cow carcass. Ray couldn’t help but stare at the grotesque display, interpreting it as a strange omen. Would their bodies be left to rot on the road, too? They never showed the corpse removal in previously aired Walks. He could see himself, pale body bloated with dying organs, lying prone on an unbroken white line, waiting for the crows to pick him off. He wondered if his mother would one day walk the same road he was walking, take the same steps, as she searched for her dead son, only to be met with a slab of cold meat that vaguely resembled Raymond Davis Garraty.

He heard the click of a camera. Barkovitch seemed to have a similar fascination with the carcass and looked to memorialize the moment.

Strange boy, Ray thought, and kept walking.

It was quiet for most of the first mile. Everyone was too preoccupied with finding their own pace. No one wanted to be the first to fall, to fail.

I’m doing okay, they probably thought.

Immediately followed by, How much longer will I be okay?

A dog, tied up in an old junkyard, barked at them. The owner, if there was one, was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, Pete,” Ray called. At some point, Pete had ended up a few paces ahead of him. “Pretty fucking desolate.”

“No shit,” Pete snickered.

“Thought there’d be more people, I guess.”

“The Major,” Barkovitch piped up, “doesn’t allow spectators until the final stretch. Except for the fucking locals.”

He spat the last part like it was a curse and then, very eloquently, flipped off a saluting police officer.

“Hey, smile, boys!” Hank pointed at the back of a half-track. On it, a shiny black lens watched them like a single dead eye. “You’re on candid camera.”

“Those aren’t very candid,” Pete argued. “If I spit at it, will it go away?”

“It’s fucking creepy,” Ray said.

Pete hummed in agreement and let the conversation die there, retreating into his thoughts. Ray glanced behind him. Stebbins was on the shoulder of the road, looking about as fresh as a daisy. Ray was somehow captivated by him. The blonde had spoken to no one, as far as he was aware, and seemed content to keep it that way. His woodsy scent blended nicely with the Maine landscape, reminding Ray of the camping trips his family habitually took over the holidays. On one memorable Thanksgiving trip, they’d had two skinny doves and three cans of watery beans for their feast. Ray was happy to report he’d been in charge of the beans, far too anxious to hold a hunting rifle.

They passed a wide open field as they finished up their fifth mile.

“What is that? Is that a wheat field?” Pete asked.

“Best in the world,” Ray said on autopilot.

“Hey, you from here?” Art inquired.

They were walking in a line now. Ray was on one end and Art on the other, with Pete and Hank between them.

“Yeah, from downstate,” Ray said.

“Oh,” Pete smiled. Ray bit back the temptation to match it. “So you the one?”

“The one what?” Art asked.

“Mr. Garraty here’s the Walker from the home state,” Pete answered.

“Warning. Warning, number 38.”

They turned around to see Stebbins still walking calmly.

“Huh,” Hank said. “Smart.”

“What’s smart?” Pete voiced.

Ray was having a hard time unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Stebbins’ warning had jolted through his body like ice-cold fingers on his back. He consciously made the effort to tone down his scent, lest he get his own warning for interfering with the other Walkers.

“Takin’ a warning while he’s still fresh,” Hank explained. “He gets an idea of what the limit is.”

“Yeah, well, it seems pretty fucking dumb to me,” Pete grumbled.

It looked like Ray wasn’t the only one shaken up by the announcement. Hank shrugged.

“Well, big boy’s gonna have no problem walking an hour without getting another warning,” he said. “Then, he’ll have this one taken off to have a clean slate. That’s a good strategy.”

Ray peeked over his shoulder, powerless to his own need to check on Stebbins and ensure the other Walker was alive and well. Stebbins was carelessly devouring a jelly sandwich, unmindful of the warning on his back.

“Hey, you think it’s smart stuffing your face with all those jelly sandwiches this early?” Ray teased.

“Fuck off,” Stebbins said around a mouthful of bread.

“Alright.”

Hank plucked something out of his mouth and placed it in his pocket.

“Olson, that’s gross,” Ray said.

“Oh, what the fuck?” Pete cringed, looking equal parts disgusted and amused.

“What?” Hank asked, defensive.

“What’d he do?” From Art.

They were passing the wheat field now, coming up to their first bridge. In a previous Long Walk, a bridge had collapsed in a storm the night before. But the Walkers had nothing to fear, or hope for, as troops of locals flocked to the river, clearing a path for the Walk to continue. Someone had gotten their ticket right there, rushing off the path and clobbering a sweaty, middle-aged man in construction.

“He put it in his pocket,” Ray answered.

“It’s fucking gum!” Hank exclaimed. “It’s not fucking biodegradable. I don’t wanna litter all over the fucking place. Jesus Christ…”

“Hank, you do realize this whole road is one big piece of litter, don’t you?” Ray threw out innocently, just to be a dick.

Pete went with it almost immediately, and Ray’s facial muscles strained with the urge to smile like an idiot.

“Yeah. He right.”

Hank scoffed, and the rest of them chuckled, starting their trek over the bridge. Ray picked up traces of a familiar spicy scent and noticed Barkovitch walking a little funny in front of them. The blonde took two more steps before crouching down on the road in a huff. Ray’s heart plummeted to his stomach.

“Warning. Warning, number 5.”

“I got a rock in my fucking shoe!” Barkovitch hissed, fingers fumbling to untie the laces of his boot.

Their group passed him, splitting down the middle like the parting of the Red Sea. Barkovitch shook out a small stone.

“The fuck is he doing?” Hank said, perplexed.

The half-tracks came to a stop, closing in around Barkovitch. They had all started walking backwards to watch. Stebbins was laughing silently, and Ray wanted nothing more than to punch him right in the nose.

"Warning, number 5. Second warning.”

“Fuck. He’s still fucking down there!”

Hank’s lemongrass was clogging Ray’s sinuses, but he kept his eyes on Barkovitch. A soldier hopped down from one of the half-tracks and stood at Barkovitch’s side just like a teacher peering over their student’s shoulder. Barkovitch’s attention wavered between looking up at the road and making sense of his laces.

“What’s he doing, man?” Pete asked, face pinched.

 The soldier swung his gun around to point firmly at Barkovitch’s head.

“Holy shit,” Hank moaned.

“C’mon, get up!” Pete yelled at the same time Ray called, “Get up, Barkovitch!”

Ray was sweating. He could feel it trailing down his back and dripping off his temples. Menthol and spice permeated the air in thick, sickening waves. Pete gripped his wrist with a clammy hand.

“Jesus Christ!” Hank cried. “That dumb fuck’s actually gonna get his fucking ticket!”

“Warning, number 5. Third warning.”

The safety on the soldier’s carbine clicked off. Barkovitch’s boot still wasn’t knotted.

“Get the fuck up, Barkovitch!” Ray hollered.

Barkovitch sprang up, his boot tied securely around his foot once more. He brushed the dirt off his knees and fixed the strap of his messenger bag with a sort of calm indifference. If it wasn’t for the boy’s sharp spikes of anxiety making Ray’s head pound, he’d say Barkovitch was wholly unaffected by being on death’s doorstep.

“Dumb fuck,” Hank said, still glancing behind him like Barkovitch was some rare specimen he couldn’t miss out on. “Dumbass.”

“Idiot,” Pete agreed.

Ray sighed, feeling like his heart had just gone through its own Olympic-sized marathon. He greedily drank from his canteen and willed his breathing to even out to avoid giving himself a cramp.

“Better not trip, fucko,” a boy called behind them.

“Y’all don’t even know,” Barkovitch panted, coming up to their group and thoroughly ignoring the boy’s comment. Ray rubbed at his temples. “I just bought myself a rest.”

“All I see is that for your lousy thirty-second rest, now you gotta walk three goddamn hours without getting a warning,” Hank grumbled. “The hell you need a rest for anyway? We just fucking started.”

Barkovitch’s scent kicked up in anger. A dark cloud ready to rain on their parade. For a beta, he had such a strong scent.

“We’ll see who gets his ticket first, fuck-wad!” Barkovitch snarled. “It’s all part of my fucking Plan.”

Ray watched him go with a grimace. Pete shook his head.

“Yeah, well, this Plan and the stuff that comes outta my asshole bears a suspicious resemblance,” Hank quipped, and Art chuckled.

Another thirty minutes had passed in contemplative silence. Ray was rolling his baseball in his hands, unable to stop thinking about Barkovitch and the stupid stunt he’d pulled. He started wondering if Barkovitch was even trying to win. Ray wanted to win, and he’d never think of doing something so blatantly suicidal. All Barkovitch had to do was lose concentration for less than a second, and there’d be a bullet in his brain.

“What you boys think about the Wish and the big Prize?” Art asked, bringing Ray out of his thoughts. “Personally, I can’t stop thinkin’ about all that money.”

“Rich men don’t enter the kingdom of heaven,” Ray said.

“Oh, wow. Alright. Hallelujah, Brother Garraty,” Hank joked. “There’ll be refreshments after the meeting.”

Pete smirked, and even Ray was powerless to crack his own grin.

“Are you a religious fella, Garraty?” Art asked, voice neutral.

“Uh, no, not particularly. But I’m no money freak either.”

“Okay,” Art said. “Look, I’m a religious fella and I ain’t ashamed to admit it, I’m here for the money. See, I grew up dirt poor in Baton Rouge, and believe me, growing up dirt poor in Baton Rouge, it ain’t no picnic. It’s one big sweaty hog fest.”

“I mean, listen, I wouldn’t mind having some money,” Ray admitted. “But there’s more important things. This Walk doesn’t matter. And the Prize, it certainly doesn’t matter.”

Pete snorted beside him.

“What?” Ray asked.

“That’s some bullshit, Garraty.”

“Alright, well, look at it like this,” Ray started, hearing his dad’s words echoing in his brain. “When the system backs people into a corner, points to an escape hatch and says, ‘That’s the only way out.’ Of course, we’re all gonna try to go through it. We’ve been set up to believe it’s the only way, the honorable way.”

Ray had all of their attention now. Even a few boys not part of their group were listening in, eager to hear more. Ray thought he was teetering on a thin line. Is this how the Major felt when he was giving his speeches? One wrong word, one wrong step, and the masses would turn against him. What would he do then?

“I mean, even though only fifty of us get picked in the Lottery, all the boys in this country put in for it. I’m not exaggerating. Everybody puts in for it even though it’s not required, ‘cause we’re all so fucking desperate. What does that tell you?”

“What?” Pete asked. His eyes hadn’t left Ray once, eating up his words like a holy roller at Mass.

“Nobody signs up for this,” Ray said. “Not really.”

“It’s not smart to talk bad about the Long Walk,” Stebbins warned. “That’s dissent, and it’s punishable by–”

“Arrest me,” Ray cut in.

“Are you gonna arrest him?” Pete questioned Stebbins seriously, pulling a laugh out of Ray. Stebbins glowered at them. “Didn’t think so.”

He rubbed at his chin, then looked thoughtfully at Ray.

“You got a point, Garraty,” he allowed. “They say we have a choice to sign up for the Lottery, but do any of you know anyone who hasn’t?” He looked around and was met with everyone shaking their heads. “Exactly. But I don’t agree with you about money,” he said, giving Ray his full attention again. “Baker’s right. It may not be the most important thing, but it’s pretty fucking high up there. The right person could do a hell of a lot of good with the right amount of money.”

“Yeah, but how many people do you know with a hell of a lot of money who are doing a hell of a lot of good?” Ray asked. “In my opinion, it’s a myth.”

“Won’t be a myth when I win,” Pete said, raising his eyebrows at Ray as if expecting to be challenged. “That’s exactly what I want that money for.”

Ray almost stopped walking right then and there. Pete had said it so earnestly, like there was no other option. If the system was rigged, if they really had no choice, then Pete’s path was just the same. It was set in stone in his mind and in his heart. He would help people because that was the kind of person Pete was.

Ray gave a soft smile and tossed him his baseball. Pete caught it with a bright grin and tossed it right back. Ray felt his first real laugh of the day tumble out of him, feeling like he was once again walking on air.

“Smoke?” Pete asked, brandishing a pack of cigarettes.

“No, I’m okay,” Ray said. He didn’t need a high to chase. His high was walking right by his side.

“Yeah, I don’t smoke neither. Figured I’d learn.”

Ray understood. If you weren’t able to say for certain you’d be coming home in a few days, why not try a couple of things before you go? Hank didn’t seem to agree.

“Hey,” he nudged Pete’s shoulder. “Hey, Hint 10? Save your wind. If you smoke ordinarily, try not to do so on the Long Walk.”

“Will you shut the fuck up, Olson?” Pete wheezed, coughing up a lungful of smoke with his words.

“It is crap, though,” Ray wheedled. “It is crap.”

“It is pretty shitty,” Pete admitted with watery eyes. “Anyone else want this? I don’t smoke.”

“Bring it here, man,” Art said, reaching for the cigarette.

“Oh! A religious fella smokes, does he?” Ray laughed.

“Hey! There ain’t nothin’ in the Bible about no tobacco, now.”

They all laughed as Art took a delicate drag. The smoke made the road look hazy, and Ray wondered if he had been given his ticket already, if this wasn’t some sort of fucked up dream. His sensitive nose picked up a new scent closing in on them, right before a body carefully wedged itself between him and Pete.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going, you fucking dipshit!” Someone grumbled.

“What’s his problem, right, boys?” A cheerful voice exclaimed. The bespectacled newcomer had a sunny grin on his sweaty face, not at all put off by the other boy’s attitude. He was clutching a notebook. “Hey, I’m Harkness. Beta.”

“Hey, Harkness,” Ray greeted, amused.

Harkness smelled like vanilla and ink. It was a strange combination, but seemed to fit the boy just right.

“You’re Ray Garraty. Hometown boy. Number 47. Alpha,” Harkness listed after a glance at his notebook. He turned to Pete. “McVries. Strong. 23. Beta.”

Ray and Pete shared a quick look over the boy’s head.

“Uh, suppose you’re wonderin’ why I’m writing down everybody’s names and numbers,” Harkness said after a moment of awkward silence.

“No, actually, I wasn’t wonderin’,” Pete declined.

“Maybe ‘cause you’re with the Squads,” Art ventured.

That got a giggly kind of laugh out of Harkness.

“Me?” he asked, surprised. “No, no, no, no! I’m writin’ a book, you see. A book about the Long Walk.”

“I see that,” Ray said, peering at the scribbles.

He could see lots of names. Stebbins. Barkovitch. Ewing. Parker. Their names were followed by a brief description, their number, and classification. He exhaled a quiet laugh when he noted Strong underlined twice beside Pete’s name.

“Yeah. A book about the Long Walk from the insider’s point of view?” Harkness whistled low. “Make me rich.”

“If you win, you won’t need a book to make you rich,” Pete snickered.

“Yeah, I suppose not, but it’d still make one heck of an interesting book, I think.”

Pete laughed and playfully cuffed his chin. A Sunday school was coming up on the right shoulder. An elderly woman stood alone in its doorway, dressed in a long black dress. Her stare was vacant and cold. Ray suppressed a shiver and looked straight ahead. No scent was coming off of her.

There was a yell of pain somewhere in front of them, then,

“Warning. Warning, number 7.”

“I’ve got a fucking charley horse!”

It was Curley. Stupid, naive Curley, who was too young to be here and too innocent to know better. He was limping along the road with his face twisted in pain.

“Warning, number 7. Second warning.”

Curley was slowing down, grabbing at his leg with both hands, and groaning. When he was within reach, Ray seized him by the strap of his pack and hauled him forward.

“Alright, Curley,” he said. “Keep it slow. Just fast enough and steady, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” Curley panted.

His shoe polish scent was bitter and burned Ray’s nose. He shook in the older boy’s hold, gasping and crying out whenever pain shot up his leg.

“Alright?” Curley began to weep, and Ray adjusted his hold, slinging Curley’s arms around his neck. “C’mon, put your weight on me. Put your weight on me.”

“You got this, boy,” Art encouraged.

“Quit fucking around. Keep it moving,” Pete ordered, watching them warily.

“You’re gonna keep walking. Listen to Pete, okay?” Ray was pumping out eucalyptus, trying to get Curley to calm down enough to forget the pain. “Just gotta keep walking. You’re with us. You’re with us.”

“Yeah, keep walking,” Pete said, checking on the soldiers behind them. “Keep walking. That’s right. We out here in the sunshine. Just havin’ fun. Focus on that pretty scent Ray’s letting out for you. Focus on that.”

“She’s loosening now,” Curley gasped.

“Okay, good. Good,” Ray said, pulling back to catch Curley’s swollen eyes. “You gotta promise me that you’re gonna keep walking.”

“I promise, I promise.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Alright, you’re okay. Right?” Ray asked, slowly letting the boy go from his arms.

Curley’s eyes were wild, probably looking around for the soldiers and their deadly carbines. He met Ray’s eyes briefly and allowed a tiny smile to grace his lips.

“C’mon, c’mon.” Ray felt like the world’s lousiest coach, but he kept his gaze locked on Curley and waved him forward. “Stick with me, okay? Stick with me. We’re right on pace. Just keep walking.”

“One, two, three, four,” Pete counted beside them. “That’s it. You got it!”

“That’s it, kid! That’s it!” Hank cheered.

Curley was doing a funny kind of shufflewalk, desperately pumping his arms to keep his momentum forward. Other voices were joining in now, urging the boy to keep going, don’t stop. All Ray could focus on was Curley’s face, pale and sweaty and cracked open with raw fear.

“C’mon, Curley. C’mon,” Ray pleaded. “It’s just you and me.”

Curley was quickly losing the battle all over again.

“Eyes up!” Pete yelled.

“C’mon, Curley! Curley, c’mon! Keep going!”

Curley’s neck strained with the effort of keeping himself together, but it couldn’t last forever. The next five steps were too much. He clutched his leg with a cry of pain and fell to his knees.

“Curley! Curley, get up!” Ray shouted. “Get up!”

“Warning, number 7. Third warning.”

There were too many voices, too many scents. Ray watched Curley with a sort of detached awareness. The boy was sobbing on the ground, soldiers steadily marching up behind him with their arms loaded with guns.

“It ain’t fair!” he cried, covering his ears as safeties clicked off. “It ain’t fair!”

A gun was pointed at the back of his head.

“It ain’t fucking fair!”

Ray spun around, hearing the dull thud of Curley’s body hitting the road like a loaded sack of mail.

“Warning. Warning, number 47.”

“Garraty!”

“Number 6, number 23.”

“C’mon!”

Ray’s body lurched forward. His feet moved without thinking. An arm was wrapped around his back, solid and grounding. The scent of freshly dug soil filled his nose. An unmarked grave.

“Can’t stop,” Pete was saying, warm puffs of breath tickling Ray’s ear. “Gotta keep moving.”

“Pete,” Ray gasped. He clutched at the hands holding him steady. “Pete, he…”

“I know, I know.” Pete squeezed his arm, voice shaky. “Don’t think about that. You gotta keep walking, Ray. You."

Ray’s flannel was carefully wrapped around his neck. His menthol, which had been rising to nauseating states, was suddenly muffled. Pete’s face swam into vision. He was breathing out of his mouth.

“Pete. I’m sorry, Pete.”

“It’s okay, Ray. Keep walking. Just keep walking.”

Death, Ray Garraty found out, had a smell. It was cold and meaty and sour. Maybe someone should hang an air freshener on the old Grim Reaper. Might make him easier to approach when he starts feeling lonely.

Chapter Text

“One of our comrades has fallen,” the Major shouted. His voice was not quite drowned out by the shrill cries of birds flying overhead. “Let’s remember him fondly and celebrate his bravery. There will be many more, but none quite as glory-filled as the very first and the very last. Today we walk for Curley. Let’s hear it, boys!”

“For Curley!”

Art looked appalled, his jasmine scent significantly weaker as if depriving them of the sweet smell acted as a fair punishment.

“Goddamn right.”

There was the rumble of an engine, and then the Major was gone again, taking his blank aviators and stifling patchouli scent with him. Ray clenched his jaw and kept his eyes locked on the road.

“Hey, what is it?” Pete asked. “You and the Major.”

Ray ignored him, taking out his canteen and finding it empty.

“Canteen! 47 calling for canteen!”

A soldier walked beside him, swapping out his with a full one. As he turned back to the half-track, Ray reached out and gently tapped the top of the carbine. The soldier was none the wiser, but of course, Pete noticed. Pete seemed to notice everything.

“Hey, why’d you touch that carbine?”

“Like knocking on wood, I guess,” Ray supplied, unscrewing his canteen to take a couple of swigs.

“You a dear boy, Ray,” Pete said, smiling.

Morale was relatively low after Curley. Ray didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and it appeared most of the other boys felt the same. Harkness was busy scribbling away in his notebook, tongue poking out in concentration. Barkovitch was up ahead, bouncing from one boy to the next and not offering much other than a single snide comment. Even Art and Hank were quiet, their heads bobbing closer together with each step they took.

After another three and a half hours, Pete broke the silence.

“Hey, you gettin’ tired?”

“No,” Ray answered, removing his hat. He doused his handkerchief in water before smoothing it over his head. Immediately, his mood felt lighter. “I’ve been tired for quite a while now. What do you mean, you’re not?”

“Listen, Ray, like the Major said. Ain’t no finish line,” Pete said. “That’s the biggest mindfuck in this race. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t disagree. It’s just, you know, I’m already feelin’ it. I’m not sure how much longer I can–”

“No, no, no. Ray,” Pete waited until Ray gave him his full attention. “C’mon, now. That’s how everybody thinks. But you see, we gotta think different. We don’t think about makin’ it to the end. We think about moments. Just makin’ it to the next moment.”

“Yeah,” Ray agreed, back to being utterly charmed by Pete now that his head was clear. “What’re we thinking about now?”

“Well, that one’s easy,” Pete drawled. “We just gotta make it through this goddamn heat, boy. Oh my God!”

Ray laughed aloud, mopping up the last of his sweat. His handkerchief was already rendered useless by the steaming sun, and he quickly put his hat back on to look at Pete without having to squint against the harsh light.

“You’re goddamn right,” Art moaned beside them.

He was down to just a sweat-soaked undershirt and still looked ready to boil. Ray and Pete snickered at his crabby expression.

“Hey, Ray,” Pete said, once they’d sobered up. “What you said back there about the Long Walk and how no one ever really volunteers…”

“Yeah?”

“Where’d it come from?”

“M-My dad said it,” Ray answered, feeling that familiar tight coil of shame.

He didn’t want to share the ugliness inside of him with Pete. He was worried he’d just leave stains all over the other boy’s goodness. Pete was kind, compassionate, and worthy of love. He was a precious gemstone in a world of boulders. Ray would only ruin that.

“Your dad’s one smart motherfucker,” Pete said, not missing a beat.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Ray said quietly, pointing his smile at his shoes.

“Just go on dancin’ with me like this forever, compadre, and I’ll never tire. Hey, we’ll scrape our shoes on the stars and hang upside down from the moon.”

“You a poet, Pete?” Ray giggled, feeling unbelievably giddy like a little girl with her first schoolyard crush.

“In days past, I woulda liked to have been a songwriter,” Pete admitted. It was the first time Ray had seen the other boy look like he had a nasty case of the blues, but Pete quickly replaced it with a cheesy smile. “But it ain’t those days, so I guess I’m stuck here riffin’ for you.”

“Hope it’s not too bad.”

“It ain’t too bad,” Pete agreed, clapping Ray on the back. “At least, here, I get to enjoy that lovely smell of yours.”

Before Ray could figure out how to respond to that, a new boy cut in.

“Hey, bud.” He smelled like graham crackers dipped in honey and musk. “You’re uh, Raymond Garraty, right? I’m Pearson.”

He pointed to a spot up ahead, grinning wildly.

“I think you got a secret admirer over there.”

“Ray!” A young girl was shouting, holding up a sign that read: GO-GO-GARRATY! Our very own. She was done up in a pretty pink dress, wrinkle-free and ending well above the knees. “Ray! I love you!”

“C’mon, man. She must be like fourteen,” Pete griped.

“I love you, Ray!”

“Maybe she just wants your autograph, that’s all.”

Embarrassed, Ray offered her a timid wave before dropping his gaze to the road. He felt uncomfortable with the little bit of attention he’d received. No one else had people cheering for them. Ray shrugged Pearson’s hand off when the boy squeezed his shoulder a little too tightly, unconcerned with appearing rude. Pearson wasn’t fazed, hanging back for a chance to get a better look at the girl.

“Get outta here, man,” Art said firmly, nudging Pearson away.

“Man, I thought spectators weren’t fuckin’ allowed ‘cause we’re on television,” Hank huffed.

“C’mon, don’t be a sourpuss, Olson,” Pete said. “The boy’s got a fan. Let him have his fun.”

“Thanks, Pete,” Ray muttered, tugging his hat down more as if he could somehow disappear inside of it.

“Hey, don’t thank me too much. I like you.”

Ray snapped his head up, surprised. For the very first time, he didn’t think about playing doctors or his parents or even the Walk. All he could hear was, I like you. I like you. I like you.

“But if you fall over, I won’t pick you up,” Pete finished.

Before Ray’s hopes were lost, Pete sent him that secret smile. The same one he’d given Ray when Stebbins blew him off ahead of the Walk.

It’s just between us, Ray, the smile said. You know what I mean, don’t you?

Ray chuckled and playfully elbowed Pete’s side.

I know what you mean, Pete.

“We’re all in this together, right?” Art was asking, eyes bouncing between Ray and Pete like he could see right through them. “No harm in keepin’ each other amused.”

“You know what, I take it back. They say you shouldn’t make friends on the Long Walk, but fuck it,” Pete said with that gorgeous, radiant smile. “I sorta like you three. Even you, Olson!”

“Fuck off,” Hank said, but there was no real bite. His lemongrass rose up sweet and fresh in the balmy afternoon air.

“No, I’m serious!” Pete laughed. “Hey, a short friendship is better than no friendship, right?”

“That’s what I be sayin’,” Art agreed.

“That’s what I be sayin’! C’mon, man. Let’s be Musketeers!”

“How the fuck are we gonna be Musketeers?” Hank pondered out loud. “There’s four of us.”

“C’mon, now. We stick together till we’re all that’s left. How about that? All for one!”

“And one for all,” Ray answered dutifully.

“Nope. I need to hear it louder.” Pete clapped his dry hands together, a whipcrack that jolted Ray’s heart into overdrive. “All for one!”

“And one for all!” The three boomed.

A flock of birds took off. Ray thought it’d be pretty amazing if the four of them could suddenly grow wings and join them.

“Yeah, baby!” Pearson cheered, trying to wedge himself between Ray and Pete.

“No, no,” Pete objected, drawing closer to Ray and effectively cutting Pearson off. “Not you.”

“You know, y’all sound like a bunch of fuckin’ queers,” snarked Barkovitch.

“Oh, you tryna suck this dick, Barkovitch?” Pete taunted.

They all chortled when the blonde’s cheeks turned ruddy with anger. Ray caught the brief flash of fear in Barkovitch’s eyes and felt a cold stone settle in his stomach.

“Sounds like you wanna eat my fuckin’ meat, you sick fuck,” Barkovitch spat and turned back around.

“Fuck! Ah…”

They immediately diverted their attention to Hank. He was bent at an awkward angle, massaging one thigh and grimacing. Ray swallowed, mind darting back to Curley. Did it hurt when the bullet went through his head, spraying chunks of meat and teeth on the road and rendering his face wholly unrecognizable? Or was it less complicated than that? Had Curley simply been here one second and gone the next? The stone in his stomach only grew in size.

“My legs feel funny,” Hank explained with a hiss of pain. “It’s like the muscles are all turnin’ baggy.”

“Hey, relax. Happened to me a few miles back. It passes,” Pete reassured.

Hank appeared doubtful, but accepted Pete’s words with a shaky nod. Art rubbed Hank’s shoulder, enveloping the shorter boy in rich jasmine.

“Warning, number 1.”

Up ahead, a boy jerked oddly as he walked. Without warning, he dropped to the ground and continued convulsing, foam spewing from his mouth.

“Shit,” Art breathed. “Hey, man, that’s Ewing.”

Apparently, Art had sparked a conversation with Ewing during one of Ray’s lapses in concentration. He caught the boys up, said he was from Texas and played a lot of sports in high school. Ray could see the muscles in his back ripple as he shook violently. Being physically fit didn’t stop the brain from going haywire on you.

“He’s shakin’ and shit,” Barkovitch tittered, as if they couldn’t see what was happening right in front of them.

He hopped over Ewing’s body with a wild giggle. Nerves and spice clung to him despite his ridicule. Ray felt another headache coming on.

“Must have some medical shit he didn’t report.”

“Hey, back off, Barkovitch!” Art snapped, releasing a wave of black pepper.

Hank held him back when he looked ready to take a swing, whispering something in his ear.

“Hey!” Pete called, irritated. “Barkovitch, go peddle your papers, little man. Go!”

“Warning. Third warning, number 1.”

Ray and Pete turned around. Ewing was making little choked-off noises, gurgling around a mouthful of sticky saliva. His body jerked and rolled. A soldier was standing above him, impassive. Ray felt anger flare up inside him as he watched.

“Why won’t they just fucking end it?” he seethed.

He faced the road. No matter how things went, he’d always have the road.

A single shot was fired. Pete spun around and released a large breath.

“I keep hopin’ that part gets easier,” he said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ray admitted.

He could feel Pete watching him as he stared at his feet, but neither of them broke the silence. Everyone had separated into their own little groups again, huddling together as if that might make it easier to forget their time was limited. Ray felt sick. The stone in his stomach sat heavy.

They made their way over a dam. Bees swarmed them from all sides. Ray wondered if any of the boys were allergic, if they’d lied about medical shit, as Barkovitch had so gracefully put it. The roar of the water filled Ray’s head. How easy it would be, he thought, to jump over the side. Would he die as soon as he hit the water? Would the soldiers, with their near-perfect precision, shoot him as he fell?

But what if he made it? What then? Would he look up at the other boys as he was swept away, bullets striking the current around him? Would he be able to look up at them at all, knowing he got out while they were destined to meet their fate on the road? He didn’t think so.

They went through another residential patch. They passed rickety houses with their paint-chipped fences and beaten-down trucks idling in the driveway. Men and women would stand by their mailboxes to see them off, faces open wide with sick fascination and a hunger that made Ray queasy.

Why don’t you take a picture, he wanted to shout at them, fierce anger still gnawing at his insides like a rabid animal. Or better yet, how about you get off your lazy asses and walk beside us?

When they reached mile 25, Ray just felt tired. Tired of looking at the road. Tired of passing borrowed time with no one to talk to. They were passing another wide, grassy field. The leaves from nearby trees rustled and carried a sweet, earthy scent in the breeze.

“Probably a nice place to live,” he commented.

“God, spare me nice places to live,” Pete moaned. It seemed he had been waiting for Ray to make the first move. “You know, if I ever get outta this, Imma fornicate till my cock turns blue.”

“Okay,” Ray laughed.

“Boy, I’ve never been so horny in my life as I am right this minute. Ain’t that strange?”

Ray didn’t think so. Before Pete had said anything, he was thinking it would’ve been nice to have something else to occupy the time with. Or maybe have someone else. Someone with less clothing on and maybe a great big scar on the side of their face.

“It is fucking strange,” he said, not willing to give himself away.

“Yeah,” Pete said, eyes bright and downright dangerous. He was looking at Ray with a smirk that spelled trouble. “Just a little bit, right? Hey, I can even get horny for you, Ray. Give me that smell.”

Pete rubbed his hands all over Ray’s sweat-damp chest. Ray giggled, startled, at the ticklish onslaught.

“Mmm!” Pete swooned after a deep inhale. “That smells so good!”

Ray’s heart was pounding. He knew Pete was just clowning around, obviously trying to drag Ray out of his funk, for which he was thankful. But he also couldn’t help feeling pride well up inside him all the same. Pete thought he smelled good.

“Yo, Long Dong Silver, that’s me,” Pete continued, voice utterly serious despite the wicked smile on his face. “I’ll fuck my way across the Seven Seas.”

“Ah, Sinbad,” Hank corrected.

“What?”

“You’re thinkin’ of Sinbad. You know, Sinbad the Sailor? That’s the Seven Seas guy.”

“Did you not hear that I don’t give a fuck?” Pete countered, but Hank couldn’t resist finishing his lesson.

“Long John Silver lives on fuckin’ Treasure Island.”

“It’s just a fucking nerdy thing to say, you know?” Ray put in as Pete muttered about pirates being pirates, and Hey, Olson, who gives a flying fuck?

“What? I’m a nerd because I read fuckin’ books?” Hank scoffed.

“I guess so.”

“Hey, hey,” Pete called for their attention. “You think that shitass has walked off his warnings yet?”

He nodded to Barkovitch a little way ahead of them. The blonde boy had snapped a great many photos with his trusty camera after Ewing’s death. Must’ve been just the reminder he needed to get back to the business of documenting his harrowing journey of blind cats and battered mailboxes. Who knew when he would meet his fate?

“He must’ve,” Art declared. “Been what? Three hours, maybe?”

“Yes, I’m fuckin’ clean on warnings, fuckfaces,” Barkovitch grouched, having overheard.

“Okay.”

“Good to hear,” Hank said, not bothering to rile him up.

Everyone seemed to be giving Barkovitch a wide berth, unwilling to test him when it was clear he had a screw loose. Ray thought Barkovitch just didn’t know how to talk to people. His comments, albeit bitchy and just this side of too mean, weren’t that bad. He just had the wrong idea of how to make friendly conversation without offending someone right off the bat.

“Hey, what is that?”

Pete was eating something he’d brought in a waxy brown paper. It smelled rich and meaty. Ray felt his stomach throb with the need to sink his teeth into something.

“This is raw ground venison,” Pete explained. “It’s good energy.”

“God,” Hank said, disgusted.

“You off your trolley, Musketeer,” Art decided. “You’re gonna puke all over the place.”

“Hey, in France, they call this steak tartare. It’s a delicacy.”

“Well, in France, they ain’t so smart,” Hank argued.

“Yeah, Renoir and Camus were idiots,” Ray said.

Pete chuckled beside him, noisily sucking his fingers. Ray forced himself to focus on the ground beneath his feet, lest he pop a boner.

“Look, I don’t know anything about that Camus shit, but I do know that they eat the fuckin’ legs of frogs over there,” Hank said. “That shit is fuckin’ disgusting.”

“Tastes like chicken wings,” Ray argued just to mess with him, Art voicing his agreement.

“Ah! Oh sh…”

Hank wobbled beside them, and Ray instinctively reached out to steady him. Art also sprang into action, hoisting him up with a hand wrapped around his bicep.

“Keep up, keep up,” Ray instructed. “Keep walking. You can do it.”

“You alright?” Art asked, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m alright. It’s the,” Hank punched repeatedly at his thigh, “fuckin’ jelly leg thing. Thought it went away for a while, but it’s comin’ back now. I just, I don’t know what the hell I gotta adjust.”

“Well, maybe stop talkin’ so much, buddy,” Art helpfully supplied, dragging Hank in closer until Ray was forced to let go.

“What’s your speed, Olson?” Ray asked.

“It’s 3.4.”

Ray checked the watch on his wrist.

“Oh yeah, me too. I’m assuming you guys?” A round of nods. “Let’s shave 0.3 off.”

They each adjusted their speed, their pace dropping to a solid 3.0. Hank moaned in relief.

“Ah, shit,” he said, voice awed. A smile was back on his face as he looked at Ray. “Holy fuck. That’s good. I really feel the fuckin’ difference.”

“Hey, so do I,” Pete said.

“Me too,” Art agreed.

“Yeah, I’m feelin’ better too. Let’s not stay here for too long, though,” Ray advised.

He was worried Hank would get a cramp, or God forbid, a charley horse while they cruised right at the limit. That would be the last thing they needed.

“You know, in the meantime, Pete,” he addressed. “Wanna tell us about that scar?”

Ray’s smile slowly dimmed when he noticed Pete’s closed expression. This wasn’t just a case of the blues. Pete’s eyes looked haunted.

“Baker’s right. Maybe we just um,” Pete sucked in his lips, tone suddenly flat. “We keep quiet.”

“Okay,” Ray agreed, feeling awful.

He knew there was a story there. He just didn’t know how bad it was. Judging by Pete’s reaction, it was very bad. Ray tried to think of what that very bad could be, but there were too many possibilities, too many factors that relied on Pete himself, and Ray was loath to admit that he didn’t know much about him. The thought depressed him.

He took out a food tube from his pouch, hoping to distract himself. It simply read, Protein. He snorted. At least it was better than, “Eat me.” He stuck the top in his mouth and felt the first drop hit his tongue. It was meaty, a little too salty, and not much else, but in that moment, none of it mattered. He sucked it down greedily, not having realized just how hungry he had been. Curley had pretty much turned his stomach upside down, and Ewing had only reinforced that. But with the hot curls of shame winding down his spine, he was suddenly ravenous.

He threw the empty tube off the side of the road and heard Hank curse beside him.

“C’mon, don’t be a fuckin’ litterbug, Garraty.”

“Go fuck yourself, Olson.”

Hank suddenly made a series of garbled shouts. He had been trying to pry open his own tube of protein, but his hands were too slippery. It fell from his grasp before he could get a proper hold on it. They looked back at the road where his tube landed, Hank’s own personal landmark.

“Fuck!” Hank hissed, anxiety spiking.

“It’s alright. You’re gonna get more rations,” Ray assured. “You’re fine.”

“Yeah, but,” Hank’s voice was shaky. He smelled a little bit like vinegar. “That was it for me today ‘cause…I’m allergic to the spam. I gave all that shit away.”

Ray and Art locked eyes above him. Art shook his head and gestured lamely at his belt. He had one tube left. Spam, he mouthed.

“Fuck. I’m fuckin’ hungry…” Hank whined.

Ray sighed and took out his last tube. He handed it to Hank without meeting his eyes.

“Here you go, Hank.”

Hank looked at him in surprise and hesitated.

“I don’t like it anyway.”

That, at least, wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t really a fan of cheese coming out of a tube. Just thinking about it made him a little queasy. After another moment of consideration, Hank reluctantly took it out of his hand.

“Thanks, Ray,” he said quietly.

He split off with Art to eat his cheese in silence. The taller boy nodded gratefully at Ray.

“Musketeer,” Pete said, with that same secret grin.

“Hey, man, I’ve been meanin’ to ask you.” That was Barkovitch, walking up ahead with a pale-faced, gangly boy. “Rank. Is it short for like, Franklin? Like, Franklin Delano Roosevelt?”

“It’s Rank,” the boy said in a soft, nasally voice.

“Yeah, but what’s it short for?”

“Just Rank.”

Ray could see a piece of paper in Rank’s hands. It was intricately folded into a butterfly.

“You’re sayin’ your mama named you fuckin’ Rank?” Barkovitch pressed, unrelenting.

“Yeah.”

Rank was nervously fiddling with the edges of the butterfly’s wings. Crinkling and smoothing, crinkling and smoothing.

“No fuckin’ way,” Barkovitch laughed. “You’re fuckin’ with me.”

Rank continued to stare at him, expression unchanged.

“Your goddamn name is Rank? Oh my fuckin’ God! No way!” Barkovitch was attracting the attention of Walkers and soldiers alike. Somebody muttered a profanity. “Your mama must’ve failed with the whole coat hanger thing…She must’ve just had to take it out on you.”

Rank suddenly threw out a fist, which was a big no-no in the rulebook. Barkovitch dodged it in the last second, dancing out of the way with a wild smile still stuck on his face.

“Warning, number 5.”

“C’mon, fuckface,” Barkovitch taunted. “You want me to dance on your grave? I’ll do it.”

Rank turned around and went for another punch. Barkovitch spun around him like a pro. He must’ve been used to people taking swings at him. He looked completely in his element.

“Warning, number 19.”

“Break it up!” Ray urged.

Rank smelled like gasoline ready to blow.

“C’mon, Rank, don’t let him fuckin’ kill you,” Pete said.

“Asshole, leave the kid alone before I pull your fuckin’ nose off and make you fuckin’ eat it,” another Walker snapped.

He was walking near Barkovitch with 48 on his tag. Ray couldn’t quite remember his name. It might’ve been something like Cole or Collie. He was releasing a spicy scent similar to the one Barkovitch produced when he was nervous, but with notes of something sweet underneath.

“Okay, meathead,” Barkovitch grumbled. To Rank, he said, “Can’t take a fuckin’ joke?”

“Fuck you!” Rank lashed out.

The curse sounded wrong coming from his mouth. The gasoline made Ray’s head swim. He wondered if Rank would get his second warning from that alone.

“Well, Rank, one more thing,” Barkovitch started.

Immediately, a flurry of voices rose up.

“Don’t take the bait, Rank!”

“Let it go!”

“Barkovitch, enough!”

“I think your mama was givin’ out coupons for blowjobs on 42nd Street. I was thinkin’ of takin’ her up on it. What do you think about that?”

With a fierce yell, Rank spun around and tried to deck Barkovitch, failing yet again. But this time, the momentum carried him too far forward, and he tripped over his own two feet, sending him sprawling to the ground face-first. The butterfly fell out of his hand. They passed him just as he was picking himself up, and Pete hissed through his teeth. Rank’s face was scraped badly from the road.

“Second warning, number 19.”

“Get up, Rank!” The Musketeers chanted.

A half-track sped up, guns at the ready, and Hank began to panic.

“Oh, God. Oh, God!” he cried shrilly.

“Warning, number 19. Third warning.”

“Get the fuck up!” Barkovitch screeched. His face was drained of all color. “Hey!”

A gunshot went off. Hank pressed his hands to his ears and made a choked sound.

“Fuck! Barkovitch, you fucking asshole!” Ray shouted.

The blonde was still walking backwards, looking at where Rank’s body lay in a cooling puddle of blood. His scent was a nauseating mix of spices, so sharp and powerful that Ray fought off the urge to gag.

“Hey, Barkovitch!” Art called, nostrils flaring like a bull seeing red. “You not just a pest no more! Now you a murderer!”

“You can’t fuckin’ say that shit!” Barkovitch wailed.

“Second warning, number 5.”

“No, no, no, no!” He was on the verge of hyperventilating now. Ray could hear the whistling of his lungs. “I didn’t do that shit! I didn’t fuckin’ touch him. He came after me, man!”

“You murdered that boy!”

“Collie, you saw that shit, right? We’re the fuckin’ same, man, I know. You like to talk, I like to talk–”

“I’m nothing like you, you motherfucker,” Collie fired back. “You fuckin’ killed that kid, for Christ’s sake.”

“Fuck off!” Barkovitch snarled.

There was a monstrous blast of putrid air. Hank gagged. Art and Pete let out a series of coughs and covered their noses. Ray felt bile rise up his throat and swallowed it back with a wince. Barkovitch was going to get another warning, without a doubt.

But then Barkovitch was slapping himself across the face hard. Ray almost stumbled, watching with a sick fascination as Barkovitch continued to hit himself in rapid succession. Collie stared at him like he’d grown another head and wisely passed him.

The scent slowly dissipated. There was no third warning.

Barkovitch kept his head down.

For a moment, silhouetted in the late afternoon sun, he looked completely and terrifyingly alone.

Chapter Text

Barkovitch’s scent was different after Rank’s untimely demise. It still held the unmistakable spice of fresh clove, but there was something else hidden just below it. Ray couldn’t put his finger on it, but he kept a close eye on the other boy just in case. Barkovitch had stopped hitting himself, at least. But he would occasionally mumble a harsh, spitting whisper and tug at his stringy blonde hair. Looked like he was starting to lose the battle in his mind.

Stebbins, on the other hand, appeared exactly as he had when they first began the Walk, albeit a little shiny with sweat. His hands were in his pockets as he stared grimly down at the ground, like he was just going out for a stroll to clear his head. Ray was absolutely miffed each time his eyes strayed to him hanging out at the shoulder of the road. Was Stebbins even human? Ray thought that if Stebbins had his head blown off right now, there would be an explosion of sparks and wires and black, gooey liquid spurting from his pristine neck rather than brain matter and bone splinters like the rest of them.

“Hey, man, look at that crow over there.”

They were passing their first graveyard. The air smelled faintly rotten with decay. Moss-covered headstones protruded crookedly from the dirt, drowning in an infestation of weeds and overgrown grass. Art was pointing at the wired fence. A crow was strung up with its wings spread wide. Its beak was cracked open, where maggots crawled and flies buzzed. Like the cow, it was just another strange omen. Just another reminder that death waited for them all on this road.

“Fuck. Spooky bullshit,” Hank muttered, repulsed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Harkness’ vanilla was bright with anxious energy, “H-Have y’all had to…poop yet?”

“I’m rationing,” Ray said. “Tryin’ to avoid it.”

He just hoped that when the time came, Pete would plug his nose and look the other way.

“That’s smart.”

“Warning, number 45.”

“See, there’s s-somethin’ real bad happenin’ up ahead,” Harkness voiced shakily. “And it’s so gross, I don’t think I can write about it in the book. It might kill the commerciality of it.”

“Commerciality?”

“Yeah, it’s the overall sales potential, you know, the–”

“We know what it is, man,” Pete flatly cut in.

“Oh. O-Okay,” Harkness gulped. Strong, underlined twice. “Well, listen, word’s been comin’ down the line. This guy, Ronald, number 45…He’s got the shits. Real bad.”

As if to solidify Harkness’ words, a rancid odor rushed past them, accompanied by disgusted grunts and groans from the Walkers.

“Warning, number 45. Second warning.”

There was the wet slap of shit on the road. Ray brought his shirt up to cover his nose in a pitiful attempt to escape the smell.

Number 45, Ronald, was still desperately trying to keep walking. He cried when another cramp gripped his stomach, unwilling to let go, and stumbled.

“Warning, number 45. Third warning.”

“Hey, idiot!” Collie called. “Pull up your fucking pants and walk. Better to be dirty than fucking dead.”

But Ronald didn’t listen. He bent his body in half, clutching his stomach with one hand while the other fumbled for the waistband of his jeans. A soldier shot him in the head just as his body released everything it had.

“Oh my God,” Harkness wheezed. His face was red with the effort of holding his breath as they passed Ronald’s body, covered in sweat and shit.

“You won’t avoid it, boys,” Stebbins said, sliding up to them with his smooth sandalwood. “Unless you wash out quick. The last twenty always have to shit.”

“Shut the fuck up, Stebbins!” Ray snapped. He suddenly hated Stebbins for being so put together, not a single fracture in his perfect resolve. “What does it matter?”

“Let’s just hope it happens quick,” Stebbins smiled.

How could Stebbins be so cold? A boy died right in front of them with his pants around his ankles and a prayer behind his teeth. Ray was suddenly sure that Stebbins would be the winner. He could get his ticket right now, and Stebbins would step over his body as gracefully as a ballerina and keep walking. There would be no tears. No snide comment. No crack in the icy organ Stebbins called a heart. He would just keep walking.

But wouldn’t Ray do the same? If Stebbins got his ticket right now, what would he do?

There was nothing else to do.

Ray would just keep walking. Despite his current irritation with the blonde boy, he found that thought deeply unsettling.

Nightfall was fast approaching. With the fading light, jackets were pulled on and zipped up tightly. The entire world turned blue and gray. Word came down the line that the Major would be visiting them soon. Ray wondered what the man got up to when he wasn’t busy spewing his bullshit motivational speeches. Maybe he went home, or whatever hellish hole he’d crawled up out of, and had tea like some long forgotten Victorian monarch.

Pete had remained quiet as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared beyond the horizon. At times, he’d picked up his pace to join Art and Hank ahead of them, leaving Ray alone with his thoughts. Harkness had fallen back at some point, still keeping pace, as he dutifully wrote in his notebook. Sometimes, he’d venture over to the shoulder to pick Stebbins’ brain. Collie was walking near a shivering group of boys, barking at one of them about being a fucking idiot for tossing his jacket earlier in the day.

Surprisingly, Barkovitch had kept Ray company the most. They didn’t strike up a conversation or even look at each other, but every so often, Barkovitch’s shoulder would rub against Ray’s like an apology. It sort of reminded him of a dog asking for its owner’s forgiveness after it’d misbehaved. He found he didn’t mind the soft brushes of contact. The wind was picking up, and without Pete by his side, Ray felt unbelievably cold. The stone in his stomach had frozen over completely.

When the Major appeared, Pete joined Ray again. Barkovitch slipped away silently.

“I’m proud of you boys,” the Major declared in that same booming drone. “You got sack. Swinging heavy as you cover these miles. Heavy and long. Where else in the world would you have an opportunity like this? Nowhere is the answer. Win that Prize. Your first night is almost upon you. For some of you, it will be the last, but remember: With determination, pride, and ambition, you will see the dawn.”

“You okay, compadre?” Pete asked quietly.

While Ray had been glaring at the Major, Pete had been watching him closely. Floodlights on the half-tracks crackled to life. The road was painted in a murky yellow tint. Their faces flickered with shadows.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Ray felt sick with the need to disclose his troubles to Pete. Pete, with his warm, earnest eyes and that secret smile only meant for Ray. “I want to tell you. It’s just…I’ll wait till morning, alright? It’ll be our next, um…”

“Moment.”

“Moment. Exactly.”

“Okay,” Pete agreed easily. His lips twitched like he wanted to smile. “Okay, sold.”

A few boys were taking out headlamps, slinging them around their necks, or fastening the straps over their ears. Ray fished out the foil of cookies his mom had given him before he had left. Oatmeal chocolate chip, his favorite. He offered one to Pete, who took it with a silent nod of thanks. The first bite was heavenly. Sugary sweetness coated his tongue, and he was suddenly brought back to that night again.

His mom wasn’t just humming when she’d taken the dishes away to be washed. She’d been singing. Her voice, raspy and slightly off-pitch, was a far cry from the angels who sat on clouds and sang dreamy hymns. But on that night, he had thought she’d make a fine addition to the heavenly choir all the same.

“In Dublin’s fair city…Where the girls are so pretty…”

She had looked so beautiful in that moment. Still plump with life, singing about far-off places and pretty girls. The light was still in her eyes as she had watched her husband ask their son if he felt like a quick game of catch.

“I first set my eyes on sweet–”

“Warning. Warning, number 47.”

The memory of his mother shattered in his mind. Someone was shaking him, and he opened his eyes to see Pete grinning at him.

“Whoa! Wakey-wakey, my boy,” Pete said.

Ray’s body jolted into awareness. He blinked harshly in the low light, coming face-to-face with the road. His feet were somehow still moving.

“That’s you. Rise and shine.”

“What time is it?” Ray asked.

“It is 3:45.”

Ray’s mind reeled. The last thing he remembered was sharing one of his mother’s cookies with Pete. Had he eaten a cookie too? The sky had still been dark gray and gloomy when he thought to bring out his treat. Now it was pitch black and speckled with stars.

“I-I’ve been, I, I–”

“You’ve been dozing for hours,” Pete smoothly cut in. “That’s your mind. Usin’ the old escape hatch. Don’t you wish your feet could?”

Ray shook his head, still feeling out of it.

“You know, I was sleepin’ too,” Pete said. “Ain’t it strange we can do that?”

“Doesn’t make any fucking sense, does it? I mean, you know, I was even dreaming.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Uh, I was dreaming about my mom,” Ray smiled, still feeling the phantom ghost of her eyes shining at him. “She used to sing me this lullaby that was so sweet, you know?”

“That’s good, Ray,” Pete hummed. “See, that’s the stuff that will get us through.”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon, tell me about your mom. What’s her name?”

“Uh, Mom,” Ray answered automatically.

“Fuck off,” Pete laughed. “You know what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Ginnie.”

“Jenny?”

“Ginn-ie.”

“Jenny?”

“Ginnie,” Ray repeated, laughing helplessly at Pete’s struggle. “Like, uh, gin. You know, what they make the martinis with.”

“Ah.”

“I bet she a real looker too,” Pearson commented. His honey and musk were light with fatigue, but the lewd smile on his lips was as strong as ever.

“Imma punch you in your face,” Ray promised.

“Get the fuck outta here!” Pete said, knocking Pearson’s shoulder away from Ray’s.

“Yeah, she’s a looker!” Hank whooped with giddy laughter.

“Oh my God.”

“I saw her at the fuckin’ startin’ area–”

“Don’t listen to him,” Pete insisted.

“–theoretically, beautiful–”

“Suddenly, everyone’s awake and bein’ weird–”

“She’s a beautiful lady! I don’t know what you’re gettin’ all PO’d for.”

“Olson,” Harkness giggled somewhere in the background. “Stop talkin’ about people’s mamas.”

“Thank you, Harkness,” Ray gratefully threw over his shoulder.

His sides ached in the aftermath of all their teasing. Somewhere, someone got their third warning.

“You know, um,” Ray started quietly, his heart weighing heavily. “She doesn’t sing the lullaby anymore, though. Pete, I miss her. I gotta tell you, I didn’t realize how much I could fucking miss her.”

Ray felt a warm, calloused hand close around his wrist.

“You know you have to win to see her, Ray.”

“I think that I’ll see her in Freeport because we live there,” Ray sighed. “But um, I just gotta make it till there, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Pete squeezed his wrist. “You got a girl, Ray?”

“Um,” Ray suddenly felt put on the spot.

He used to have a girl. Jan. A picture of her was drawn forth in his mind’s eye. Her long, blonde hair that shimmered in the sunlight. Her full, round breasts that stood proud above her thin waist and lean thighs. They had met in high school when Ray was still daydreaming about playing doctors and wondering why girls didn’t appeal to him with all their smooth, feminine lady parts. She was a soft-spoken beta with twinkling blue eyes and dimples, and she had been charmed by him the moment they'd first spoken to one another.

They dated for two years. Two years of picnics in the field by his house, watching black and white reruns in their town’s stuffy movie theater, and necking in dark corners of the library. She had never seemed especially enthusiastic to take their relationship to the next level, and Ray had no qualms about it. He thought she might’ve caught on to his own reluctance because before he had signed up for the Long Walk, she was coming around less and less. And when his name was picked in the Lottery, she’d cried and thought it’d be best for them to end it. Ray didn’t argue.

“Yeah, I did,” Ray admitted, feeling oddly guilty. “You know, I had to end it because of this. So…that was that.”

“That’s too bad, but smart.”

“Yeah, I think so too. What about you, Pete? You got a lady?”

Pete didn’t answer right away. When Ray looked over, the other boy was staring thoughtfully at the road. Ray wondered if he had overstepped again, ready to apologize, but Pete beat him to it.

“No, Ray,” he said. His hand on Ray’s wrist felt searing hot, and when their eyes locked, it felt like Pete was branding him. “No, I don’t.”

Ray swallowed, suddenly lost in those dark eyes. His heart rate picked up even as his feet slowed down.

“Warning, 47. Second warning.”

“Fuck.”

Pete pulled him forward by his wrist like a dog on a leash.

“Uh-oh.” That was Barkovitch. It seemed he still had some fight left in him after all. “You dreamin’ about your boyfriend’s dick in your mouth?”

“You see somethin’ green, Barkovitch?”

“Just your scaredy fuckin’ ass, that’s all,” Barkovitch sneered.

Ray wasn’t paying enough attention to the road. Barkovitch’s comment had gotten to him like a parasite in the brain. He had never wanted to do anything with Jan, didn’t feel right pawing at her chest like some dumb animal, but could he say the same about Pete? If he had met Pete in high school, would he even be on this Walk right now? His right shoe hit a raised crack in the pavement. He flew forward, about to eat shit, had it not been for Pete’s quick reflexes.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Warning, 47. Third and final warning.”

Barkovitch giggled nervously in the background.

“Listen, Ray,” Pete was closer than ever, holding Ray steady. “Just three hours. Three hours and your slate is wiped clean.”

Ray’s heart felt like it was hammering against his ribcage, threatening to crack his chest wide open. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

Third and final warning.

Could it really have been Ray’s number they called? Maybe he had heard them wrong. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.

“C’mon, just keep walkin’.”

Pete’s voice in his ear. The warnings in his head. It was too much. Ray roughly yanked himself out of Pete’s hold, feeling unbearably suffocated.

“Shut up, Pete! Shut up!”

Animal-like pleasure rippled through the Walkers. Garraty is losing it! Hey, Hometown Boy is gonna get his ticket tonight! Menthol burned bright in the chilly air.

“Stop acting like you don’t want me to get my ticket. I know you’re just like the rest of them, man,” Ray was saying. He didn’t know where the words were coming from, just that they wouldn’t stop like the pounding of his heart. “Stop pretending like you don’t wanna see me with a fucking bullet in the back of my head!”

He picked up his pace, leaving his fellow Musketeers behind.

“I was just tryin’ to help,” Pete called quietly.

Ray’s boots stomped forward. He couldn’t afford to lose focus for even a second. Was this how Barkovitch felt with the warnings on his back? No wonder the blonde was acting like a basket case. Up ahead, a sign, rusty and dented with age, became illuminated by the headlights of the half-tracks.

STEEP GRADE

TRUCKS USE LOW GEAR

“C’mon, step into it, brothers!” Barkovitch shouted cheerfully.

“Fuck me,” Ray grunted. “Fuck!”

“Shut the fuck up, Barkovitch!”

“Make me!”

“Oh fuck, we’re gonna fucking die!”

“A lot of you are gonna die on this hill,” Stebbins’ voice rang out clearly. “Maybe more than half. Happened once six years ago. Twenty-eight in total.”

The deafening crash of guns filled the air. Ray pumped his arms, huffing and puffing like a wild bull. His calves were screeching at him to slow down, to stop. There was a pinch in his stomach where the stone grew spikes.

“Shit! Shit!”

Something wet and warm splashed his back. It felt like getting hit with a water balloon. There was the unmistakable thump of a body hitting the pavement and then nothing.

“Warning, number 14–”

“Number 8–”

“Final warning–”

Collie passed him, wheezing hot and heavy breaths. He smelled like rotten flowers. Someone screamed. The guns continued their heavy metal song of death.

“C’mon, Olson!”

“Number 41–”

“Number 30–”

Bodies were dropping like flies. A kid in front of him was shot three times. Ray stepped over the ruin of his body, not bothering to look down. A half-track pulled up beside him, engine roaring like a monstrous beast. A soldier had his gun trained on Ray’s head.

“Ah! No!”

“30. Final warning–”

“Second warning–”

“I’m okay! I’m okay!”

Two boys went down together. Another was on the shoulder of the road, wailing. Ray’s vision swam with black dots. His head was throbbing. His legs were turning to jelly. He thought with absolute certainty that he was about to die.

“You got a gun to your fuckin’ head, fucker,” Barkovitch hissed as he stormed by in a cloud of spice.

It had the same effect as smelling salts. Ray was jerked back into consciousness. He forgot about Pete. He forgot about the soldier. He forgot about the sour stink of blood and fear clogging the air. Instead, he focused on the road. It was just him and the road. He could see the top of the hill. It was farther than he would have liked, but it was there. He took a quick, careful inventory of himself. His legs were on fire, his heart was on the verge of exploding, and his lungs whistled. But he was still here. He was still alive.

You’re gonna make it, he chanted. By God, you have to make it. Do it for Mom. Do it for Dad. Do it for Pete. This isn’t your final fucking moment. It just can’t be.

A wave of dizziness hit him just as he finished his mental pep-talk. It was so powerful that his eyes rolled. He was dimly aware of a faint ringing in his ears. My heart, he thought. Get down, everybody! My heart is about to blow!

Someone dug their sharp nails into his arm. With some difficulty, Ray turned his head and saw Pete.

“How you holdin’ up?”

“Not good. I,” Ray wheezed, “I feel faint.”

“You can do this,” Pete promised. “Pour your canteen over your head.”

Ray did as he was told and gasped. The water was a shock to his system. He shivered as icy-cold trails disappeared down the back of his shirt. His dizziness decreased. His heart sang in relief.

“There you go. There you go,” Pete said. It sounded an awful lot like he should be saving his breath, but he was choosing to use what little he had left on Ray. “One foot in front of the other. That’s it. Now, refill.”

“Canteen, 47! Canteen!”

The soldier who’d been watching Ray like a dog eyeing a particularly juicy piece of meat dropped his gun and raced to comply.

“Ray, top of the hill. We made it.”

Ray could hardly believe his eyes. He could see Collie and Barkovitch up ahead. They were winded and ash-faced, but alive.

“No, no, no,” Pete hoisted him up more firmly. “Don’t slow down. Do not slow down. Keep movin’. You’ll catch your breath.”

Ray stared down at Pete’s hand on his arm. Guilt and gratitude and adoration rushed into his aching body all at once. He felt ill with it.

“Pete, I didn’t mean what I said back there, okay?” Ray said thickly.

“Forget it.”

“No, I owe you an apology–”

“Forget it,” Pete insisted.

“No, Pete, I owe you–” Ray’s voice cracked.

He sucked in a sharp inhale and released it with a desperate cry. Barkovitch glanced back at him, but Ray couldn’t see anything past the tears blurring his eyes.

“I can’t–”

Pete wrapped his arm firmly around Ray’s shoulders and dragged him in until they were tightly pressed together. This close, Ray was treated to the beta’s vague musky scent. Despite its weakness, it grounded him like nothing else. He could feel his head getting foggy as he greedily gulped it down.

“It’s alright, Ray,” Pete hummed. “You’re alright.”

“You know I didn’t mean it, right?” Ray pleaded, trying to blink back another fresh wave of tears.

“It’s all good. Let it out.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t be fuckin’ dumb,” Pete urged. “Keep the pace. Just keep the pace.”

“W-What about the rest of them?” Ray asked, almost too afraid to hear the answer. “The, um, Musketeers?”

“Musketeers are all good.”

Ray felt more tears slip down his cheeks. His chin wobbled with the effort of holding back relieved sobs. If he had possessed the energy to do so, he would have searched out their scents. But as it was, he was one strong breeze away from being knocked right over.

“Okay.”

“Keep walking, Ray.”

Pete’s hand slipped down his arm, obviously going for his wrist again. Ray, half delirious and shaking, grabbed Pete’s hand in his own instead. He locked their fingers firmly together. Pete didn’t say a word, but Ray knew that even without looking, the other boy was wearing that secret smile of his.

Just between us, Ray. It’s you and me. You know what I mean?

Yeah, Pete. I know what you mean.

Chapter Text

The dawn of the new day spilled upon them like runny egg yolk. Ray watched the lines on the road change as he walked. He thought maybe he should’ve learned how to drive before entering the Long Walk. Then perhaps he’d understand why the line was sometimes single, and other times double. Why, sometimes, it broke off into little rectangles like someone had taken an eraser to it. There was no use learning about it now.

He and Pete had held hands as they left the last of the night behind them. But at some point, he’d wandered off to check on Art and Hank, promising to relay any new information he could get ahold of. Ray was bursting to take a leak, but with the weight of three warnings on his back, he couldn’t fathom the possibility of it. Everyone had fallen behind him. He must’ve been hitting a solid 4 mph during his brush of death on the incline. Those in his direct line of sight were strangers, and he tried not to let the worry and fear gnaw at him. An alpha boy, maybe a year or two older than Ray, had lost his mind before the first light of morning reached them. He couldn’t handle the horrors they’d endured, had gone completely feral at the sight and smell of the soldiers, and got his ticket just as the stars disappeared.

Ray wondered what it would feel like to go feral. He’d seen a woman go through it in the middle of the grocery store once. They’d never spoken, but they sometimes waved hello to each other when their paths crossed in town. She was pretty, with copper-colored hair and long legs, had two small children, and appeared to be pregnant with a third. But she’d been alone when they dragged her out, kicking and screaming and foaming at the mouth, eyes blazing a deep, hellish red. He remembered the way she’d smelled, sulfur and ozone, like a bomb had gone off. Their eyes had met briefly before Ray’s mom pulled him away. When she would recognize him out on the streets, her eyes, a beautiful forest green, always lit up like jewels. But in that moment, there was nothing but a raging hunger and animalistic confusion. He never saw her or her kids again.

As if sensing his oncoming panic attack, Pete sidled up to him.

“Hey, get this,” Pete said, leaning closer to Ray than was strictly necessary. If he was about to divulge some juicy gossip, no one was around to hear it anyway, but Ray didn’t mind the close proximity in the slightest. “Word got around last night. Apparently, Harkness tripped goin’ up that hill–”

“What?” Ray startled, looking around for Harkness’s familiar brunette head.

“Easy, alpha,” Pete crooned, stilling him with a firm squeeze to his wrist. “Our best-sellin’ author is alright. Just a little limp, that’s all.”

Ray deflated at that, relieved beyond belief. Pete chuckled at his reaction, giving his wrist another squeeze like he was preparing Ray for his next words.

“We have Stebbins to thank for that.”

“What?”

“Yeah, swooped right in like some knight in shining armor,” Pete laughed. “Got our princess put to rights and wouldn’t let him go for two hours.”

“Stebbins?” Ray checked.

“Stebbins.”

Ray peeked over his shoulder and was greeted by the familiar sight of Stebbins hanging back on the edge of the road. He was glumly staring down at an empty sandwich wrapper.

“Why the hell did he do that?” Ray asked quietly, mostly to himself.

Pete shrugged and answered anyway.

“Dunno. Maybe the Walk is gettin’ to us all.”

Ray tore his eyes away from Stebbins to see Pete already looking at him. His expression was thoughtful, like he was trying to figure Ray out.

“You think you’ll win, Ray?” Pete asked suddenly.

“Uh, I, I need to.”

“We all do.”

“Yeah, to survive, I get it. But I need to for other reasons.”

“Okay,” Pete agreed easily. “But do you think you will?”

“No, Pete,” Ray admitted. “No, I don’t. How about you?”

“I stopped thinkin’ I had any real chance around 11 last night.”

Ray gave a small chuckle, even though the thought of Pete getting his ticket before him had his heart aching. Why did he have to meet Pete? Why did he have to meet any of them?

“You know, I had an idea,” Pete continued, “that when the first guy fell off, the soldiers would point their guns, and when they pulled the triggers, a little piece of paper with the word ‘Bang’ would pop out. The Major would go, ‘April Fools!’ and we’d all go home. Do you know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah, Pete, I do.”

“Yeah, it took me a while to realize the real gut-truth of this,” Pete said, expression grim. “This is walk or die. Simple as that. Not survival of the physically fittest because I’d have a good chance, but…There are mothers who will lift a fuckin’ car if their kid was pinned underneath. The brain, Garraty. Not man or God. There’s something in the fuckin’ brain. I don’t have that. I don’t wanna beat people that badly. And I think, when the time comes and I’m tired enough, I think I’ll just sit down.”

“I hope that’s not true, Pete,” Ray said, wrapping his fingers around Pete’s again.

“I’ll go before you, at least. You say you don’t think you’ll win, but I can see it in your eyes,” Pete hummed. “You’ve got a wild animal locked inside, Ray. You’ll have to let it out if you really wanna win.”

“I…” Ray thought he could feel that wild animal clawing at his insides, pleased to be acknowledged. He swallowed. “I can’t.”

“You will.”

“How many people are left?” Ray asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Word came up. We lost 14 last night, which means 18 left, I think,” Pete swung their joined hands between them as they walked. The rising sun painted him in sparkling yellow hues, like the brush was dipped in pure gold. “Thinnin’ out, Ray. Got a chance now.”

Ray didn’t know what to say to that, so he let the conversation lull. Pete’s hand in his was warm and grounding. With nothing more to do than walk, he lifted his nose to carefully pick out everyone’s scents. Art and Hank were the closest. Their joint scent held traces of exhaustion, but was strong enough to ease the worry in Ray’s mind. Stebbins remained unchanged, as cool and collected as ever. Harkness was there too, sweet vanilla tainted with faint twinges of pain, but not enough to raise any alarm bells. Collie was back to smelling like bitter floral perfume. Ray wondered if it was always like that, on account of his testy mood, or if it was a byproduct of last night. Barkovitch was a vicious cycle of spice and anxiety. Ray would have to check up on him first, if he was able. Even Pearson was still around, scent muddled with sweat and fear, but still present.

Once everyone was accounted for, the wild beast inside of Ray settled. He smoothed his thumb over the back of Pete’s knuckles, breathing deeply. Pete asked if he minded keeping an eye on him while he dozed. Ray didn’t mind at all and happily welcomed Pete’s weight as the boy leaned on him, throwing an arm around Ray’s shoulders for better support. Last night felt more and more like some fucked up dream the more ground they covered. His ears had stopped ringing a long time ago, and his heart was back to beating steadily in his chest. He tried to get Barkovitch to accompany him while the sunlight pierced them with blinding streaks, but the other boy just scowled and avoided looking at him at all.

It was about the same time that Ray’s bladder made itself known with a stabbing in his gut that Pete roused from his slumber.

“Ugh,” Pete groaned, picking his head off of Ray’s shoulder with a wince. Ray heard a crackle and gave a low noise in sympathy. Pete looked over at him, his lips stretching into a gorgeous grin. “Ah, my ray of sunshine.”

“Have any good dreams, Pete?” Ray asked.

“I think I’m still in one,” Pete hummed softly before breaking their gaze to stretch his arms above his head.

Ray smiled, his urge to pee momentarily forgotten.

“Did you walk off your warnings?”

“Yes, I did,” Ray replied, feeling like a weight was finally off his shoulders.

“Ray, you know it’s true morning now,” Pete said. He had fished out a toothbrush of all things from his pack and was meticulously dry-brushing his teeth. “You gonna tell me?”

Before Ray could answer, Collie was coming up from behind, a frown on his face.

“What a dipshit state this is,” he opened with. He was glaring at the trees like they’d done him a personal disservice. “Is there even a city in this whole fuckin’ place?”

“You know, it’s funny, Collie. We like to breathe fresh air instead of smog,” Ray snarked.

“Ain’t no smog in Sioux Falls, you fuckin’ hick.”

“Ah, right. No smog. Just a lot of what is it, hot air?”

“Now, now, boys,” Pete cut in, waving his toothbrush between them. “C’mon. Let’s settle this like gentlemen. First one to get his head blown off has to buy the other one a beer. How about that?”

“I don’t like beer,” Ray said.

Beer was the scent on his dad’s breath whenever he got a little too political. Ray could hardly stomach the sight of it.

“Fuckin’ bumpkin,” Collie rolled his eyes and broke off to pester someone else.

“He’s buggy,” Pete said. “You know, you seem buggy too, Ray.” When Ray did nothing but grunt, Pete threw up his hands. “Fuck me, is everyone buggy this morning?”

Art gave a whispery little sigh behind them.

“I bet Olson’s got the bugs too,” Pete said, before raising his voice to direct it at the Asian boy shambling along the white line. “Hey, Olson!” No answer, but Pete was nothing if not determined. “Hey, Hank!”

“C’mon, c’mon, McVries. Leave him alone, man,” Art admonished. “He ain’t had a good night. He ain’t doin’ so well, either.”

“Hey, how’d you sleep today, huh? ‘Cause I slept just fuckin’ great.” Ray was starting to think Pete had a case of the bugs, too. “Hey, Olson, you wanna go for a walk?”

“Go to hell,” Hank mumbled.

“C’mon, what? What’d you say?” Pete pressed.

“Go to hell!”

Ray patted Pete’s stomach, a gentle message to back off. Hank really did look like he was coming down with something. His scent was starting to take on the bitter traces of chemicals, like acid. It lingered at the edges of his lemongrass, persistent. Ray didn’t like it one bit.

“Just tryin’ to keep it interesting,” Pete said.

Ray hummed in reply. Maybe it was a good time to empty his bladder. Everyone was already grumpy. Why not add some splashes of urine on their boots to really seal the deal?

A warning was issued somewhere behind them. Ray spun around so fast he was surprised he didn’t trip right over his feet. All he could think about was Harkness. Pete said he'd tripped. He had a limp. A limp was not good in the Long Walk. What if his ankles were giving him trouble? What if he couldn't keep the pace? But when Ray's eyes took in the scene, he realized it was just a boy he hadn’t had the chance to meet yet. His hands were scraped up pretty badly, wounds still open and dripping blood as he walked. There was a deep gash on his right knee. If Ray focused hard enough, he thought he could see white flashes of bone buried deep. The boy was given a second warning, and then a third. Ray’s hands shook when he collapsed on the ground, in an ungraceful, bloody heap.

“God, it’s so fucked,” Ray harshly spat. He couldn't stop seeing Harkness lying there, glasses cracked, and his stupid notebook drowning in a sea of blood. That could have been him. “This thing is so fucked! It’s all so fucked!”

“You’re too emotional, Garraty,” Stebbins’ dry voice called. “That’ll get you in the end.”

Ray resisted the urge to lash out at him. He wanted to ask Stebbins what he was feeling when he had helped Harkness last night. Talk about being too fucking emotional, Ray just barely stopped from growling aloud.

“You know, you hardly talk, and when you do, it’s just fuckin’ garbage,” Pete snapped. He softened his tone when he addressed Ray next. “It’s a shame. Poor, poor kid.”

“Why don’t you write him a fuckin’ poem?” Barkovitch suggested, moodily. “Actually, you know what? You should write him a song, songwriter.”

“Why don’t you kiss my ass, killer?”

“Hey, don’t fuckin’ say that shit!” Barkovitch turned his head to glare over his shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild, bouncing nervously between Pete and Ray. “You’re fuckin’ wrong to say that, man. I’m not fuckin’ wrong. You’re fuckin’ wrong.”

“Oh yeah? What you gonna do?”

“I got plans for you, motherfucker,” Barkovitch said quietly.

He faced the road again, shaking his head and muttering unintelligible nonsense. Ray flinched when he slapped himself. Collie said something about belonging in the fucking loony bin, which Barkovitch did not take well, going by the sharp stink of agitation he released. Ray stared down at his trembling hands, wondering if Barkovitch was having the same issue with keeping them steady. They seemed sure enough when they slapped across his face, but what about in the quiet that followed?

“Ray, you good?” Pete asked softly, covering Ray’s fingers in a firm grip.

“I mean, I’m uh,” Ray swallowed. He thought about the strange, new scent clinging to Barkovitch’s clove. The way Barkovitch had kept him company when no one else was around. How Barkovitch had been the one to snap Ray back to reality when he first started to lose it on the hill. Were those his plans for Ray? “I’m better than that fuckin’ guy, I guess.”

He wasn’t sure if he was referencing Barkovitch or the boy who got his ticket just moments before.

“That’s good, Ray. Remember we…” Pete sighed and let go of his hand. “We can’t have it both ways.”

Before Ray could ask him what he meant, Pete was falling back to keep pace with Art. Ray blinked down at the road, stung. He couldn’t make sense of the other boy. One minute, he was holding Ray’s hand and smiling at him like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, and the next, he was leaving Ray alone with nothing but his thoughts and the lingering warmth of Pete’s fingertips to keep him company. He got the impression that he was failing a test over and over again, but Ray didn’t know what to study. The whole thing was just so…fucked.

Ray sighed and set his sights on Barkovitch. He might as well try to get some answers out of him before he crawled back to Pete, desperate for his attention. He hurriedly emptied his bladder before he walked up to the other boy, giving him room so he didn’t feel too crowded. The last thing he wanted to do was set the blonde off.

“Hey,” Ray said, keeping his tone light.

“The fuck do you want, Garraty?” Barkovitch muttered. An angry hand-shaped print stood out starkly on one pale cheek. “Get in a fight with your fuckin’ boyfriend?”

“No, man. Well…” Ray shook his head and tried not to glance back at Pete. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Yeah, well, go fuckin’ cry about it somewhere else. I’m not in the fuckin’ mood.”

“Can you just, can we just walk together? Please?”

Ray waited for the rejection, waited for Barkovitch to spit some nasty comment and leave him all alone. But Barkovitch just stayed silent, as good an answer as any. Ray relaxed and settled into the gentle brushes of their shoulders as they walked through another little town. He could feel Pete’s eyes on him when the rumble of the Major’s half-track sounded nearby, but Ray stuck close to Barkovitch, unflinching.

“Give yourselves due kudos, boys. You made it 100 miles. That’s a goddamn accomplishment.” The Major let out a raspy chuckle, and Ray balled his hands into fists. Barkovitch noticed and hesitantly leaned closer. “Keep on. The Prize awaits.”

“I mean, how the heck he always look so fresh?” Art wondered aloud once they’d passed the Major. “He even human?”

Barkovitch worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched Ray glare down at the road. A couple of locals had stopped on the sidewalk to stare at them like they were nothing but animals in a zoo. A few of them pointed at Ray and smiled, but he didn’t have the energy to acknowledge them with anything more than a brief nod.

“It’s not a trick,” Stebbins said. It sounded like he was talking through a stuffed nose. “The Major sleeps at night. After supper. He even showers.”

“That ain’t fair.”

“It’s not about fair.”

Collie mockingly saluted a police officer, mumbling, “How are you, fuckin’ fuckhead? You goddamn bag…”

Stebbins let out an explosive sneeze. Harkness’s pen scraped noisily against his notebook like a record scratch.

“You gettin’ sick, Stebbins?” Ray asked, trying not to let worry seep into his voice.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like that, Garraty?” Stebbins sniffled. “Just allergies. I get ‘em every spring.”

“Oh shit!” Barkovitch gasped beside him. His eyes were locked on a boy sprinting for the closest building. “He’s runnin’ for it!”

As soon as the boy’s sneakers left the road, the soldiers fired. The boy’s body was haphazardly thrown forward by the blasts. He crashed into a window, raining shards of glass all over his bleeding corpse. Ray unconsciously shielded Barkovitch from the sight when the boy flinched beside him.

“Oh, fuck, man,” Barkovitch breathed a nervous giggle. Nimble fingers loosely grasped Ray’s flannel. “That just woke me up.”

Ray patted Barkovitch’s hand, sending out a soothing wave of eucalyptus even as his heart pounded in his eardrums. He risked a glance at Pete. The other boy was frowning down at his feet. Ray bit back another sigh.

When they finally left that town, Barkovitch was still walking with him. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words. Every time Ray tried to get the other to open up, Barkovitch shot him down with a stormy look. Eventually, the blonde had taken out a can from his bag, spooning something sweet into his mouth.

“What is that?” Ray peered into the can, his nose twitching at the pleasant aroma. “Are those peaches?”

“Peach pie,” Barkovitch answered around a mouthful.

“Is that your favorite?” Barkovitch shrugged. “Mine’s blueberry. My mom makes it…uh, she made it all the time for me. Probably why I have such a great bod, huh?”

Barkovitch glanced at his body, his lips twitching. His clove scent was mild, mixing nicely with the peaches in a spicy, sweet concoction that made Ray light-headed. He rummaged around in his messenger bag before shyly offering Ray one of his cans.

“No way.” Ray thumbed the image of a blueberry pie, smiling. “Fuck, I might cry.”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Barkovitch huffed, handing Ray a plastic spoon.

“Are you sure?”

Barkovitch rolled his eyes, twin ovals of pink sitting high on his cheekbones.

“Ain’t you a peach, Barko?”

Ray laughed when Barkovitch shoved his shoulder, ears burning a bright red. There was something sweet in his scent. Ray’s mouth watered, but that might’ve had something to do with him finally popping the top off the can.

“Holy hell,” Ray moaned at the first spoonful. He actually felt choked up, the backs of his eyes stinging dangerously. “This is literally the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Barkovitch snickered, but refrained from commenting. He pulled out his camera when Ray took his next bite, capturing the frankly ridiculous orgasmic face he made. Ray gave the lens a goofy smile, blueberry staining his teeth. Barkovitch laughed and snapped another picture.

“Finally made a friend, killer?” Collie drawled.

Barkovitch’s smile dropped immediately. He roughly crammed his camera into his bag, ignoring Ray in favor of sulking. His good mood was entirely gone, spice burning Ray’s sinuses. Ray shot Collie a look, but the other boy just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

Ray tried to calm Barkovitch down, but it was hard to break through the cloud of spice the blonde had surrounded himself in, successfully warding off unwelcome visitors. He walked ahead of Ray, breaking their peaceful camaraderie. The blueberry pie filling twisted sourly in Ray’s stomach.

“Phew! What I’d give for a foot massage right now,” Art said, breaking through the tense silence with an easy grin. “If I win, I swear to God, I might be tempted to use my Wish for a foot massage right there on the road.”

“You serious, Baker?” Ray asked, willing to play along now that his mood had deflated.

“No, man, ‘course not. I’m gonna ask to have one of, what you call ‘em?” Art’s eyes lit up. “One of them space rockets!”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, I always wanted to go to the moon. Anywhere’s better than here.”

“Hey, you know, that’s not a bad wish, Baker. Remember that one kid that, uh, he wished for a pet elephant?”

“Yeah! Yeah, and they gave it to him. They brought it out with a saddle and everythin’ and he just rode it home,” Art smiled. “They really will give you anything you want. That’s why I’m askin’ to go to the moon.”

“I’m gonna wish for 10 naked ladies,” Hank divulged.

“Oh shit, there he is!” Pete exclaimed. “I thought we lost you.”

“I’m fine,” Hank said quietly.

“The fuck you gonna do with 10 naked ladies?”

“Thought you were gonna play nice, McVries!”

“That’s a stupid fucking wish, Olson,” Ray said, shaking his head when Pete and Art laughed behind him.

“How is that a stupid fuckin’ wish? You fruity or something?”

“That’s not the point, Olson.” He deliberately skipped over Hank’s comment. “You know, when you win, you get like a gazillion dollars. You can pay for 10 naked ladies to come over to your house whenever you’d like,” Ray explained. “It’s just, you know, when you win, you should Wish for something that you can’t pay for.”

“No, I don’t wanna have to fuckin’ pay for my naked ladies,” Hank said, sounding scandalized at the thought of it. “That’s gross.”

“Hey, you do realize that if you get your Wish, someone’s gonna have to pay the 10 ladies to get naked for you, right?” Pete smartly pointed out.

“Okay, I never thought about that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

The Musketeers shared a laugh.

“What would you wish for, McVries?” Art asked.

“I had a Wish for a long time. For years, actually. But…” Ray felt Pete’s shoulder brush his as the other boy took his place beside him. “I’ve changed my Wish in the last couple days. From now on, I’m gonna Wish that the Long Walk has two winners. ‘Cause then, in years to come, people can have hope that maybe their friends just might make it.”

Ray smiled. He could feel Pete’s eyes on him, but could do nothing to wipe the ridiculous grin off his face.

“They’d never allow that shit,” Hank argued.

“Well, hell if I don’t try!”

“That’s beautiful, Pete,” Ray said.

“Oh, fuck off, man.”

“No, I’m not fucking with you. I’m serious. That’s really fucking goddamn beautiful.”

“Well, I still think 10 naked ladies is a fuckin’ no-brainer!” Hank called. “How about you, Garraty?”

“Ah, I’m not saying. It’s like a birthday wish, you know?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Art complained. “C’mon, Garraty. The chances it’s gonna be you or any one of us, for that matter, is slim to none. What’s the harm?”

“Chances are gettin’ better and better. And you know,” Ray skipped for a few paces, eliciting a chorus of appreciative whistles. The sugar from the blueberry pie seemed to be hitting his system all at once. “I’m feelin’ pretty good today.”

“Look at you,” Pete laughed.

“There you go. But, uh, I don’t know. How many of us are left?” Ray began counting the heads he could see. Collie helpfully raised his hand. “It’s around 15, probably. I don’t know. Those are no longer bad odds!”

“This ain’t enjoyable at all anymore,” Hank whined, smacking his lips. “There’s no fuckin’ flavor.”

“Are you talking about the piece of gum?”

“Oh God, spit it out, man!”

“So gross!”

“What can I say? I’m a superstitious motherfucker,” Hank said. “I got this feelin’ in the depth of my gut. So long as this gum lasts, so do I. When she goes, I go. We gotta make it through this thing together, me and the gum.”

“That’s as beautiful as it is disgusting, Olson,” Ray praised.

“No, no, don’t change the subject now, Garraty,” Art cut in.

“I’m not.”

“You ain’t here for the money, right? Give us a nibble. What you here for?”

“Listen, I’ll tell you this. I want my Wish to change things. You know, maybe stop this whole thing altogether.”

“You can’t Wish for things that cause changes in the state’s policy–”

“Oh my God, Olson. That’s not what I’m talkin’ about, my man,” Ray sighed. “I’m just saying I’m not Wishing for something to change. My Wish, if I get it, might enact change. You know, indirectly.”

“Fuck are you hidin’, Garraty?” Barkovitch questioned up ahead. He was anxiously wringing the strap of his messenger bag. The smell of peaches had disappeared, replaced by spice and something like longing. “Ain’t these supposed to be your best fuckin’ friends?”

“Hey, shut the fuck up, killer,” Pete barked. “Go find your own circle, man.”

“Pete…” Ray whispered, shaking his head. Pete backed off, but not without a confused frown.

Ray’s mind flashed back to the way Barkovitch had offered him the can of blueberry pie. There was a wistful sort of hope in his eyes that had Ray’s stomach cramping painfully. He wished he could say something, but he didn’t want to risk Pete ditching him again.

“Hey, gotta be careful sayin’ that kinda stuff out loud, man,” Art warned. “The Major would have you shot talkin’ about ideas like that.”

“No, I know,” Ray said. “It’s just, um, I don’t know. I figured in the next 2 days, I’m either gonna be dead or the Winner. Might as well speak while I can.”

“Hey, he’s right,” Pete agreed after a moment. “You know, you right, Garraty. Fuck the Long Walk.”

“There you go, Pete.”

“Hey, fuck the Major!”

“There you go!” Ray shouted, his heart beating wildly.

“Fuck the Long Walk!” Collie joined in, raising his fist.

“Oh yeah, Collie!”

“Fuck the Major!”

“C’mon, Baker! What you got?” Pete goaded. “What you got, boy?”

“Screw the Walk, man,” Art laughed.

“Guys! Guys, c’mon.”

“Oh, c’mon, Olson! Don’t be a fuckin’ pussy now.”

“The Major isn’t a smart target,” Stebbins croaked. His throat was definitely hurting now.

“Fuck the Major!” Collie yelled. “Fuck the Long Walk!”

“Oh shit, Stebbins,” Pete gasped in mock surprise. “Well, he gon’ have to fuckin’ shoot me. Fuck the Long Walk!”

“Fuck the Major!”

“Fuck the Long Walk!”

Ray laughed, cheering along with them. Even Hank joined in the chaos, craning his neck towards the sky and screaming for all the world to hear. Art was grinning from ear to ear, looking around at everyone with gleeful admiration. Collie’s face was twisted into an expression of defiant rage. Barkovitch was wincing, trying to cover his ears without drawing attention to himself. A small smirk graced Stebbins’ face as he watched Harkness tiredly shout with everyone else. A boy in the front, Ray thought his name was Tressler, raised his radio up high. A powerful guitar riff filled the air, along with the rebellious cries of several boys too tired to care.