The Long Walk

nine-to-one now that Scramm’s out of it. Christ, he looks almost the same now as when we started.”
    Garraty nodded as if expecting this. He found his tube of beef concentrate and began to eat it. What he wouldn’t have given for some of McVries’s long-gone raw hamburger.
    McVries snuffled a little and wiped a hand across his nose. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you? Being back on your home stomping grounds after all of this?”
    Garraty felt the worm of excitement wriggle and turn again. “No,” he said. “It seems like the most natural thing in the world.”
    They walked down a long hill, and McVries glanced up into white drive-in screen nothing. “The fog’s getting worse.”
    “It’s not fog,” Garraty said. “It’s rain now.”
    The rain fell softly, as if it had no intention of stopping for a very long time.
    “Where’s Baker?”
    “Back there someplace,” McVries said.
    Without a word—words were almost unnecessary now—Garraty began dropping back. The road took them past a traffic island, past the rickety Porterville Rec Center with its five lanes of candlepins, past a dead black Government Sales building with a large MAY IS CONFIRM-YOUR-SEX MONTH sign in the window.
    In the fog Garraty missed Baker and ended up walking beside Stebbins. Hard like diamonds, McVries had said. But this diamond was showing some small flaws, he thought. Now they were walking parallel to the mighty and dead-polluted Androscoggin River. On the other side the Porterville Weaving Company, a textile mill, reared its turrets into the fog like a filthy medieval castle.
    Stebbins didn’t look up, but Garraty knew Stebbins knew he was there. He said nothing, foolishly determined to make Stebbins say the first word. The road curved again. For a moment the crowd was gone as they crossed the bridge spanning the Androscoggin. Beneath them the water boiled along, sullen and salty, dressed with cheesy yellow foam.
    “Well?”
    “Save your breath for a minute,” Garraty said. “You’ll need it.”
    They came to the end of the bridge and the crowd was with them again as they swung left and started up the Brickyard Hill. It was long, steep, and banked. The river was dropping away below them on the left, and on their right was an almost perpendicular upslope. Spectators clung to trees, to bushes, to each other, and chanted Garraty’s name. Once he had dated a girl who lived on Brickyard Hill, a girl named Carolyn. She was married now. Had a kid. She might have let him, but he was young and pretty dumb.
    From up ahead Parker was giving a whispery, out-of-breath goddam! that was barely audible over the crowd. Garraty’s legs quivered and threatened to go to jelly, but this was the last big hill before Freeport. After that it didn’t matter. If he went to hell he went to hell. Finally they breasted it (Carolyn had nice breasts, she often wore cashmere sweaters) and Stebbins, panting just a little, repeated: “Well?”
    The guns roared. A boy named Charlie Field bowed out of the Walk.
    “Well, nothing,” Garraty said. “I was looking for Baker and found you instead. McVries says he thinks you’ll win.”
    “McVries is an idiot,” Stebbins said casually. “You really think you’ll see your girl, Garraty? In all these people?”
    “She’ll be in the front,” Garraty said. “She’s got a pass.”
    “The cops’ll be too busy holding everybody back to get her through to the front.”
    “That isn’t true,” Garraty said. He spoke sharply because Stebbins had articulated his own deep fear. “Why do you want to say a thing like that?”
    “It’s really your mother you want to see anyway.”
    Garraty recoiled sharply. “What?”
    “Aren’t you going to marry her when you grow up, Garraty? That’s what most little boys want.”
    “You’re crazy!”
    “Am I?”
    “Yes!”
    “What makes you think you deserve to win, Garraty? You’re a second-class intellect, a second-class physical specimen, and probably a second-class libido. Garraty, I’d bet my dog and lot you never slipped it to that girl of yours.”
    “Shut your goddam mouth!”
    “Virgin, aren’t you? Maybe a little bit queer in the bargain? Touch of the lavender? Don’t be afraid. You can talk to Papa Stebbins.”
    “I’ll walk you down if I have to walk to Virginia, you cheap fuck!” Garraty was shaking with anger. He could not remember being so angry in his whole life.
    “That’s okay,” Stebbins said soothingly. “I