The Long Walk

watchers were in another world, not related to him in any way. They might have been behind a thick plate-glass shield.
    “Fifteen,” Scramm answered. He scratched his chin, which was blue with beard stubble.
    “No one tried to talk you out of it?”
    “There was a guidance counselor at school, he gave me a lot of shit about sticking with it and not being a ditch digger, but he had more important things to do besides keep me in school. I guess you could say he gave me the soft sell. Besides, somebody has to dig ditches, right?”
    He waved enthusiastically at a group of little girls who were going through a spastic cheer-leader routine, pleated skirts and scabbed knees flying.
    “Anyhow, I never did dig no ditch. Never dug a one in my whole career. Went to work for a bedsheet factory out in Phoenix, three dollars an hour. Me and Cathy, we’re happy people.” Scramm smiled. “Sometimes we’ll be watching TV and Cath will grab me and say, ‘We’re happy people, honey.’ She’s a peach.”
    “You got any kids?” Garraty asked, feeling more and more that this was an insane discussion.
    “Well, Cathy’s pregnant right now. She said we should wait until we had enough in the bank to pay for the delivery. When we got up to seven hundred, she said go, and we went. She caught pregnant in no time at all.” Scramm looked sternly at Garraty. “My kid’s going to college. They say dumb guys like me never have smart kids, but Cathy’s smart enough for both of us. Cathy finished high school. I made her finish. Four night courses and then she took the H.S.E.T. My kid’s going to as much college as he wants.”
    Garraty didn’t say anything. He couldn’t think of anything to say. McVries was off to the side, in close conversation with Olson. Baker and Abraham were playing a word game called Ghost. He wondered where Harkness was. Far out of sight, anyway. That was Scramm, too. Really out of sight. Hey Scramm, I think you made a bad mistake. Your wife, she’s pregnant, Scramm, but that doesn’t win you any special favors around here. Seven hundred in the bank? You don’t spell pregnant with just three numbers, Scramm. And no insurance company in the world would touch a Long Walker.
    Garraty stared at and through a man in a hound’s tooth jacket who was deliriously waving a straw hat with a stringy brim.
    “Scramm, what happens if you buy it?” he asked cautiously.
    Scramm smiled gently. “Not me. I feel like I could walk forever. Say, I wanted to be in the Long Walk ever since I was old enough to want anything. I walked eighty miles just two weeks ago, no sweat.”
    “But suppose something should happen—”
    But Scramm only chuckled.
    “How old’s Cathy?”
    “About a year older than me. Almost eighteen. Her folks are with her now, there in Phoenix.”
    It sounded to Garraty as if Cathy Scramm’s folks knew something Scramm himself did not.
    “You must love her a lot,” he said, a little wistfully.
    Scramm smiled, showing the stubborn last survivors of his teeth. “I ain’t looked at anyone else since I married her. Cathy’s a peach.”
    “And you’re doing this.”
    Scramm laughed. “Ain’t it fun?”
    “Not for Harkness,” Garraty said sourly. “Go ask him if he thinks it’s fun.”
    “You don’t have any grasp of the consequences,” Pearson said, falling in between Garraty and Scramm. “You could lose. You have to admit you could lose.”
    “Vegas odds made me the favorite just before the Walk started,” Scramm said. “Odds-on.”
    “Sure,” Pearson said glumly. “And you’re in shape, too, anyone can see that.” Pearson himself looked pale and peaked after the long night on the road. He glanced disinterestedly at the crowd gathered in a supermarket parking lot they were just passing. “Everyone who wasn’t in shape is dead now, or almost dead. But there’s still seventy-two of us left.”
    “Yeah, but . . .” A thinking frown spread over the broad circle of Scramm’s face. Garraty could almost hear the machinery up there working: slow, ponderous, but in the end as sure as death and as inescapable as taxes. It was somehow awesome.
    “I don’t want to make you guys mad,” Scramm said. “You’re good guys. But you didn’t get into this thinking of winning out and getting the Prize. Most of these guys don’t know why they got into it. Look at that Barkovitch. He ain’t in it to get no Prize. He’s just walkin’ to see other people die. He lives on it. When