The Long Walk

to keep the business going—the undertaking business—but nobody much seemed to cotton to a lady undertaker.”
    “I doubt if that was it,” McVries said.
    “No?”
    “No. I think your uncle jinxed her.”
    “Jinx? How do you mean?” Baker was interested.
    “Well, you have to admit it wasn’t a very good advertisement for the business.”
    “What, dying?”
    “No,” McVries said. “Getting cremated.”
    Scramm chuckled stuffily through his plugged nose. “He’s got you there, old buddy.”
    “I expect he might,” Baker said. He and McVries beamed at each other.
    “Your uncle,” Abraham said heavily, “bores the tits off me. And might I also add that he—”
    At that moment, Olson began begging one of the guards to let him rest.
    He did not stop walking, or slow down enough to be warned, but his voice rose and fell in a begging, pleading, totally craven monotone that made Garraty crawl with embarrassment for him. Conversation lagged. Spectators watched Olson with horrified fascination. Garraty wished Olson would shut up before he gave the rest of them a black eye. He didn’t want to die either, but if he had to he wanted to go out without people thinking he was a coward. The soldiers stared over Olson, through him, around him, wooden-faced, deaf and dumb. They gave an occasional warning, though, so Garraty supposed you couldn’t call them dumb.
    It got to be quarter to eight, and the word came back that they were just six miles short of one hundred miles. Garraty could remember reading that the largest number to ever complete the first hundred miles of a Long Walk was sixty-three. They looked a sure bet to crack that record; there were still sixty-nine in this group. Not that it mattered, one way or the other.
    Olson’s pleas rose in a constant, garbled litany to Garraty’s left, somehow seeming to make the day hotter and more uncomfortable than it was. Several of the boys had shouted at Olson, but he seemed either not to hear or not to care.
    They passed through a wooden covered bridge, the planks rumbling and bumping under their feet. Garraty could hear the secretive flap and swoop of the barn swallows that had made their homes among the rafters. It was refreshingly cool, and the sun seemed to drill down even hotter when they reached the other side. Wait till later if you think it’s hot now, he told himself. Wait until you get back into open country. Boy howdy.
    He yelled for a canteen, and a soldier trotted over with one. He handed it to Garraty wordlessly, then trotted back. Garraty’s stomach was also growling for food. At nine o’clock, he thought. Have to keep walking until then. Be damned if I’m going to die on an empty stomach.
    Baker cut past him suddenly, looked around for spectators, saw none, dropped his britches and squatted. He was warned. Garraty passed him, but heard the soldier warn him again. About twenty seconds after that he caught up with Garraty and McVries again, badly out of breath. He was cinching his pants.
    “Fastest crap I evah took!” he said, badly out of breath.
    “You should have brought a catalogue along,” McVries said.
    “I never could go very long without a crap,” Baker said. “Some guys, hell, they crap once a week. I’m a once-a-day man. If I don’t crap once a day, I take a laxative.”
    “Those laxatives will ruin your intestines,” Pearson said.
    “Oh, shit,” Baker scoffed.
    McVries threw back his head and laughed.
    Abraham twisted his head around to join the conversation. “My grandfather never used a laxative in his life and he lived to be—”
    “You kept records, I presume,” Pearson said.
    “You wouldn’t be doubting my grandfather’s word, would you?”
    “Heaven forbid.” Pearson rolled his eyes.
    “Okay. My grandfather—”
    “Look,” Garraty said softly. Not interested in either side of the laxative argument, he had been idly watching Percy What’s-His-Name. Now he was watching him closely, hardly believing what his eyes were seeing. Percy had been edging closer and closer to the side of the road. Now he was walking on the sandy shoulder. Every now and then he snapped a tight, frightened glance at the soldiers on top of the halftrack, then to his right, at the thick screen of trees less than seven feet away.
    “I think he’s going to break for it,” Garraty said.
    “They’ll shoot him sure as hell,” Baker said. His voice had dropped to a whisper.
    “Doesn’t look like anyone’s watching him,”