The Long Walk

man. That is feeble.”
    “What have you been thinking about?” Garraty asked.
    “How tough it’s going to be for the second-to-last guy.”
    “Why so tough?” McVries asked.
    “Well . . .” Pearson rubbed his eyes, then squinted at a pine tree that had been struck by lightning some time in the past. “You know, to walk down everybody, absolutely everybody but that last guy. There ought to be a runner-up Prize, that’s what I think.”
    “What?” McVries asked flatly.
    “I dunno.”
    “How about his life?” Garraty asked.
    “Who’d walk for that?”
    “Nobody, before the Walk started, maybe. But right now I’d be happy enough with just that, the hell with the Prize, the hell with having my every heart’s desire. How about you?”
    Pearson thought about it for a long time. “I just don’t see the sense of it,” he said at last, apologetically.
    “You tell him, Pete,” Garraty said.
    “Tell him what? He’s right. The whole banana or no banana at all.”
    “You’re crazy,” Garraty said, but without much conviction. He was very hot and very tired, and there were the remotest beginnings of a headache in back of his eyes. Maybe this is how sunstroke starts, he thought. Maybe that would be the best way, too. Just go down in a dreamy, slow-motion half-knowingness, and wake up dead.
    “Sure,” McVries said amiably. “We’re all crazy or we wouldn’t be here. I thought we’d thrashed that out a long time ago. We want to die, Ray. Haven’t you got that through your sick, thick head yet? Look at Olson. A skull on top of a stick. Tell me he doesn’t want to die. You can’t. Second place? It’s bad enough that even one of us has got to get gypped out of what he really wants.”
    “I don’t know about all that fucking psycho-history,” Pearson said finally. “I just don’t think anyone should get to cop out second.”
    Garraty burst out laughing. “You’re nuts,” he said.
    McVries also laughed. “Now you’re starting to see it my way. Get a little more sun, stew your brain a little more, and we’ll make a real believer out of you.”
    The Walk went on.
    The sun seemed neatly poised on the roof of the world. The mercury reached seventy-nine degrees (one of the boys had a pocket thermometer) and eighty trembled in its grasp for a few broiling minutes. Eighty, Garraty thought. Eighty. Not that hot. In July the mercury would go ten degrees higher. Eighty. Just the right temperature to sit in the backyard under an elm tree eating a chicken salad on lettuce. Mighty. Just the ticket for belly-flopping into the nearest piece of the Royal River, oh Jesus, wouldn’t that feel good. The water was warm on the top, but down by your feet it was cold and you could feel the current pull at you just a little and there were suckers by the rocks, but you could pick ’em off if you weren’t a pussy. All that water, bathing your skin, your hair, your crotch. His hot flesh trembled as he thought about it. Eighty. Just right for shucking down to your swim trunks and laying up in the canvas hammock in the backyard with a good book. And maybe drowse off. Once he had pulled Jan into the hammock with him and they had lain there together, swinging and necking until his cock felt like a long hot stone against his lower belly. She hadn’t seemed to mind. Eighty. Christ in a Chevrolet, eighty degrees.
    Eighty. Eightyeightyeighty. Make it nonsense, make it gone.
    “I’d never been so hod id by whole life,” Scramm said through his plugged nose. His broad face was red and dripping sweat. He had stripped off his shirt and bared his shaggy torso. Sweat was running all over him like small creeks in spring flow.
    “You better put your shirt back on,” Baker said. “You’ll catch a chill when the sun starts to go down. Then you’ll really be in trouble.”
    “This goddab code,” Scramm said. “I’be burd ing ub.”
    “It’ll rain,” Baker said. His eyes searched the empty sky. “It has to rain.”
    “It doesn’t have to do a goddam thing,” Collie Parker said. “I never seen such a fucked-up state.”
    “If you don’t like it, why don’t you go on home?” Garraty asked, and giggled foolishly.
    “Stuff it up your ass.”
    Garraty forced himself to drink just a little from his canteen. He didn’t want water cramps. That would be a hell of a way to buy out. He’d had them once, and once had been enough. He had been helping their next-door neighbors, the Elwells, get in their hay. It was