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. Michelangelo’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’s 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’s 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.

“Wait, 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’s 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’s 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’s 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’s 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’s 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’s 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.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Ray, you think it’s gonna rain tonight?”

Ray picked his head up to peer at the sky. Dark clouds rumbled ominously in the distance.

“Think so,” Ray sighed. “Just hope there isn’t lightning.”

“Lightning would be cool,” Hank mumbled. He was leaning heavily on Art, his jaw still working around that piece of gum. “Fuckin’ divine intervention…”

“Anything to add, Brother Garraty?” Pete teased.

“No,” Ray said and poked him. “We could all get hit by lightning and it wouldn’t change a damn thing, anyway.”

“Maybe we’d all live,” Art mused. He was rubbing Hank’s shoulder in small, circular motions. “I mean, think about it. If we all got struck by lightning and lived, wouldn’t they have to let us go? We all technically died on the Walk.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Art,” Ray said, voice low.

“Still, it’s nice to think about.”

“Yeah, thinkin’ about nice things is all we’ve got now,” Pete agreed. “Like it’d be real nice if Olson spit out that fuckin’ gum already.”

“Hey, don’t insult the gum,” Hank said. “You insult the gum, you insult me.”

Pete held up his hands in surrender. Ray laughed softly. Just like yesterday, everyone was preparing to get through the night. The wind had turned on them like a vengeful goddess, cold biting at their cheeks and stinging their eyes. Harkness had given up writing when his fingers became too numb to hold the pen. Barkovitch was rubbing his hands together, teeth chattering. Collie was walking near the front, keeping a faster pace in an effort to warm up his body. Stebbins looked the worst. His nose and cheeks were bright red as he sniffled and hacked. At one point, Harkness offered him a tissue. It was reduced to a snotty, paper-thin mess after one use.

“Hey, uh, Pete?” Pete glanced at him. He was practically plastered to Ray’s side. Sharing body heat, as he had put it. “I’m uh, I’m gonna go talk to Barkovitch real quick.”

Pete raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Ray stared back, hoping he didn’t look too much like a dog begging for scraps at the dinner table.

“Tell me, first,” Pete said. “What exactly is your…plan, Garraty?”

“I don’t, I,” Ray shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean, Pete.”

“I think you’re playin’ a dangerous game. I just hope it doesn’t cost you anything in the long run.”

“The Long Walk,” Hank corrected with a sleepy snort.

“Shut the fuck up, Olson.”

“Listen, man, I think McVries is right,” Art said quietly. “Barkovitch don’t seem too stable, Garraty. He’s bad news.”

“He’s not…Okay, just listen,” Ray said, feeling defensive and not knowing why. “I just think, you know, the numbers are going down. There’s no use shutting anyone out right now.”

“Goddamn Musketeer,” Pete muttered.

Ray bit his lip. He didn’t want to argue. Not when night was closing in on them so fast. The fear that another incline could be waiting for them in the darkness loomed over them, now with the added threat of rain. He almost got his ticket last night. How was he supposed to protect everyone when he couldn't even protect himself? He looked around and beckoned Harkness over with a nod of his head.

“Okay,” he swapped himself out with Harkness, throwing Pete’s arm around the smaller beta’s shoulder. Harkness wobbled under the weight, but otherwise kept the pace, giving Pete a nervous smile. “Keep each other warm, please. I’ll be right back.”

Ray shot one last desperate look at Pete before picking up his pace to settle next to Barkovitch. The blonde boy hissed when a gust of wind blew harshly against their faces.

“Here,” Ray said and cupped his hands around Barkovitch’s smaller ones. Barkovitch didn’t immediately pull away, too cold to argue, which Ray counted as a win. “Better?”

“Sh-Shouldn’t you be playin’ house w-with your fuckin’ b-boyfriend?” Barkovitch stuttered through the shivers racking his body.

“Well, if this road is my house, then I guess you’re part of the family too,” Ray cheerfully replied.

“Man, g-get the fuck outta h-here,” Barkovitch groaned. “I h-hate all of you.”

“See, we really are a family.”

“F-Fuck off!”

“Relax,” Ray murmured.

He blanketed Barkovitch in his eucalyptus. Barkovitch fought it at first before slowly relaxing. Ray went as far as wrapping his arm around Barkovitch’s skinny frame, hugging him close. The blonde exhaled a ghostly breath as Ray’s warmth seeped into his clothes.

“Now, I know that’s better,” Ray said. “It’s better for me.”

“Y-You’re just fuckin’ lucky it’s cold as f-fuckin’ shit out here, Garraty.”

“Listen, I wanted to talk. See, we’ve got this thing goin’ on. The Musketeers, you ever hear of them?”

“I d-don’t want to be part of your stupid fuckin’ boy band.”

“I think you do,” Ray pressed. “Jesus, Barkovitch. I’m really fucking trying here, alright? I want to be your friend. Is that so hard to believe?”

Barkovitch didn’t reply at first. He stared down at the road passing under their feet, a crinkle in his brow. He wasn’t shivering as violently anymore.

“You only fuckin’ like me ‘cause of my pie,” he eventually muttered.

“Okay, you got me,” Ray laughed. “Fuck you, Barkovitch. Give me all your pie, or I’ll tickle you. Don’t test me.”

Barkovitch’s lips slowly lifted at the corners.

“You’re fuckin’ queer, ain’t you, Garraty?”

Ray, not having expected that, took a moment to answer.

“I…don’t think that matters.”

Barkovitch looked up at him. His blue eyes twinkled in the dying gray light. A burst of sweetness lifted between them before being dragged away by the wind.

“I’m not fuckin’ sharing with those assholes,” Barkovitch stated firmly. “And I’m not fuckin’ friends with them either.”

“No,” Ray agreed. “But you’re…my friend, right?”

Barkovitch sighed. It was kind of cute the way he was pretending not to snuggle deeper into Ray’s side. Thank God for Maine’s shitty weather, Ray thought. It did wonders for cracking even the toughest exteriors.

“Fine, fuckface. Friends. Happy?”

Ray resisted the urge to tossle Barkovitch’s hair. He thought the blonde might bite him for it. So, he settled on an affirmative hum and pressed closer.

“You guys are just too fuckin’ cute,” Collie grumped from the side. Apparently, he was done warming up. Ray felt Barkovitch tense in his hold and cursed Collie’s horrible timing. “Someone put me outta my goddamn misery already.”

“Collie. Collie,” Ray called. Barkovitch squirmed beneath him, trying to break away, but Ray held on tight. “Hey, man. It’s cold out here.”

“Oh great, a weather report from Hometown Boy. What’s next? Gonna give us the fuckin’ farm report, hick?”

“Just, Jesus,” Ray stared disbelievingly at the two of them. “Fucking pieces of work, the both of you. Just come here.”

Collie grudgingly walked beside Barkovitch, who shied away from the other boy’s piercing gaze. Ray carefully maneuvered them closer together until Barkovitch was squished between them.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Collie asked.

“Uh, sharing body heat,” Ray replied with a cheeky grin.

“Fuck,” Collie groaned. “This is so fuckin’ stupid.”

“You’re on my fuckin’ hair, dumb fucker!” Barkovitch hissed. He retaliated by pulling at one of Collie’s dark brown locks.

“Fuck you, you fuckin’ redneck!”

Ray sighed, suddenly feeling better than he had in days. He tuned out the other boys’ bickering and just let himself breathe. It felt nice to have a sort of breakthrough with Barkovitch. He knew Art was right, though. The blonde boy was unstable, and Ray needed to be extra careful or risk triggering an explosion. He knew that once Barkovitch warmed up enough and realized exactly where he was, and more importantly, who he was with, there’d be hell to pay. But for now, with him tucked neatly into Ray’s side and flinging insults at Collie like it was all he was born to do, Ray thought it felt a lot like having his own pack. He’d never had his own, but the thought excited him like nothing else. He wondered if Pete or any of the other Musketeers would come around before it was too late. He thought maybe Art would. Guy couldn’t wear a rosary around his neck and not have some semblance of forgiveness. Hank would probably call him a fucking headcase. And Pete…

Ray clipped the side of his shoe against Barkovitch’s. They both stumbled and would have taken a nasty fall if it hadn’t been for Collie quickly straightening them out. Thankfully, as they were already going over the speed limit, no warnings were issued.

“Fuck!” Barkovitch cried. He turned wide, fearful eyes on Ray. “What the fuck, Garraty? You tryna make me get my fuckin’ ticket, you motherfucker? Is that what all of this was about? I fuckin’ knew it, you goddamn son of a–”

“Would you chill the fuck out, you fuckin’ freak?” Collie growled. “Dipshit was too lost in his fucking thoughts to watch where he was going.”

“Thank you, Collie,” Ray gasped out. His heart was doing somersaults in his chest at the near-tumble.

“Fuck off, man. You call this real weather?”

“You know, Collie, I don’t control everything that happens in this state.”

“Whatever,” Collie scoffed.

“Are you okay?” Ray asked quietly, directing his attention to Barkovitch.

Barkovitch was rubbing harshly at his face. Ray didn’t notice it before, too caught up in trying to stay warm, but the boy looked exhausted. He had dark, puffy circles under his eyes, looking like a sad, feral raccoon. And every few steps, he would sway, as if he were on the verge of collapsing.

“I’m fucking fine, Garraty.”

“You wanna get some sleep?” Ray suggested. He tightened his hold around Barkovitch’s waist, hoping it was enough to convey that Ray would keep him safe while he dozed.

“I’m not…” Barkovitch blinked slowly. His head was already drooping. “‘M not fuckin’ tired…”

“Real convincing,” Collie muttered.

“Collie, man, lay off,” Ray said. “We’re all having a rough time, alright?”

Collie didn’t respond, but he did steady Barkovitch when the blonde leaned dangerously forward. Ray let out a heavy exhale. A small drop of water landed on his nose. He looked up to see that the clouds had finally moved to cover them. It wouldn’t be long before they were all soaked. He fixed Barkovitch’s hat on his head before doing the same to his own. Collie didn’t appear to have any protection against the rain, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it, so Ray didn’t see the point in mentioning it.

“Hey, Collie?”

“What?”

They hadn’t been walking for more than twenty minutes after Barkovitch fell asleep. The rain was falling steadily now, little silver needles obscuring their vision.

“What’s your Wish? I mean, if you win the Walk.”

“Obviously, if I win the fuckin’ Walk,” Collie sighed. It was like it physically pained him to talk to Ray. “I don’t know, Garraty. Maybe I’d Wish for my people to stop being treated like fucking criminals everywhere we go.”

“That’s a good Wish.”

Collie snorted, and they lapsed back into silence. Ray could hear Stebbins coughing roughly somewhere behind them. Harkness’s voice rose right after, gently asking if he was okay. Ray winced when Stebbins unsuccessfully cleared his throat, throwing him into another choking fit. The weather wouldn’t do him any favors. Ray looked at the rain, feeling his eyes grow heavy. He didn’t mind the rain. It reminded him of being back home, sipping scalding hot tea with his mom while she cut up a pie fresh out of the oven. On those days, she was always too cold to wait, saying it was better to burn their mouths and fill their bellies than suffer in the freezing temperature. What he wouldn’t give for a hot meal right now. Preferably surrounded by all these stinky, moody boys. Maybe he could even find a different way to warm Pete up…

Ray shook himself out of those thoughts. Collie gave him a strange look, but didn’t comment. Ray was glad for it. Barkovitch had already called him out on it earlier, but Ray still didn’t know how he felt in that area. Sure, he was attracted to Pete’s face and his hands and his voice, and Art had that nice southern drawl, and Collie’s face looked like it belonged on the cover of some high-end fashion magazine. Even Stebbins had Ray’s guts stirring pleasantly when he caught himself looking for too long. And he could admit that Harkness and Hank were cute in their own goofy, boyish ways.

But he still liked looking at girls. He liked their long legs and pouty lips. He liked it when their lipstick smeared after a particularly good kiss, and the way they’d toss their hair when they laughed. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to touch them. Girls to him were like artwork in a museum. Nice to look at, but discouraged from laying his hands upon.

He peered down at Barkovitch snuffling in his sleep. Out of all the boys, he was, in a manner of speaking, the most feminine-looking. He had that angular face and thin waist. His legs were long. Petite hands. Even his lips always seemed frozen in a sulky pout. His hair, at the beginning of the Walk, had been freshly washed and fluffy. Now, it was nothing more than a rat’s nest of limp, tangled strands, but it still framed his face in a relatively attractive way. Maybe Ray wouldn’t mind getting with girls if they looked a little more like this.

Barkovitch blinked up at him. Ray, caught off guard, blinked back.

“Fuck are you starin’ at me for, Garraty?”

“Oh, I, uh, I wasn’t,” Ray stammered and looked away. “You were, uh, drooling.”

Barkovitch wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He squinted at his dry fingers with a smirk before his jaw cracked open in a wide yawn.

“Shit, boys, I feel fuckin’ fantastic,” he said.

“It hasn’t even been an hour,” Ray pointed out.

“Don’t need an hour to look better than your ugly fuckin’ mugs.”

“No, you need twelve,” Collie snarked.

“Maybe you should take a nap, Collie,” Barkovitch brightly suggested. “Just hope you don’t fuckin’ trip.”

“If I’m going down, I’m fuckin’ takin’ you with me.”

“I’m countin’ on it, fucko.”

Collie’s face twisted up like he’d tasted something sour. Ray glanced between the two of them, helplessly amused. Now that he knew Barkovitch wouldn’t be alone, Ray felt comfortable moving on.

“I’m gonna go back to Pete now,” he said. “Stay warm, guys.”

Collie glared at him, giving him a look that clearly read, You’re fucking leaving me with him? Ray gave him a wink in return. Served him right for always ruining the moment.

“So, Collie, you got a sister named fuckin’ Poodle or somethin’ like that–”

Ray spun around to face the back, finding Pete not that far behind him. The other boy was alone. Art and Hank were cuddled close a few paces away, heads bent low to avoid the rain pelting them. Harkness was sticking close to Stebbins on the edge of the road, eyeing him nervously every time the blonde boy gave a mean cough.

Ray opened his arms with a shrug. An invitation. Pete pursed his lips and mimicked the gesture. Ray laughed. He felt like skipping again, but knew he would just end up making a bigger fool of himself. He heard Collie shout something over the rain, followed by Barkovitch’s high-pitched giggle. Somewhere, Hank let out a wet sneeze. But Ray only had eyes for Pete. Pete, with raindrops sliding down his beautiful face, a smile he was obviously trying to hide, shining through like sunlight streaking through clouds. Ray allowed himself a moment to simply admire the other boy.

If Barkovitch was his type in girls, then Pete was definitely his type in boys. Strong, chiseled muscles. Rough skin. A deep voice that turned Ray’s legs to jelly. Maybe he was a little queer. He honestly didn’t care what he was. Just so long as he got to be with Pete.

“You gonna make me wait here all night?” Ray called. He had pushed his hat off, not wanting to miss a single detail on Pete. His hair clung to his head, dripping water into his eyes.

“I don’t know, Garraty. I could get used to this,” Pete drawled. “You waitin’ on me in the rain like some kinda lovesick fool. It makes a pretty picture.”

“I’ll bring flowers next time. Promise.”

Pete laughed, taking pity on him. He met Ray with a blinding grin, spinning them both around to continue their walk. He locked their arms together, rubbing Ray’s clothed bicep in an effort to warm him up. Ray huffed and took Pete’s hand in his, squeezing firmly, drawing another genuine laugh from the other boy.

“You’re too sweet for your own good, Ray,” Pete said.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not especially. But out here, on the Long Walk, it could be very risky.”

“Well, that’s me. Mr. Risk-Taker.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Pete said with a shake of his head. He nodded at the bickering forms of Collie and Barkovitch. “So, how’d it go with your new pal? Should I be expectin’ a happy announcement in the morning?”

“You jealous, Pete?”

Pete gave him that secret smile, staring a beat too long at Ray’s mouth.

“I got anything to be jealous of, Ray?”

“No. No, of course not,” Ray quickly reassured. He swallowed, eyeing the water droplets clinging to Pete’s lips.

“Good ‘cause I was promised flowers.”

Ray laughed, feeling stupidly warm despite the cold nipping at his skin and turning his muscles to ice.

“What flowers do you want, Pete?”

“Hmm, violets. Definitely violets,” Pete said with a nod. “But you gotta get the right ones, alright, Garraty? They’ve got these beautiful ones down in Jersey. Got spots all over them like freckles.”

“Okay,” Ray said, grinning and thinking about the freckles dotting his own cheeks and nose.

He always thought they were kind of silly-looking. Made him look younger and, therefore, less likely to be taken seriously. His mom, like all mothers, said they made him more handsome. He’d always blush and turn away whenever some other older lady complimented him. But with Pete, he suddenly felt like he was on top of the world.

“And since you’re such a big risk-taker, throw in a couple of mint leaves too,” Pete continued. “Make sure it’s wrapped up real nice in some ribbon. I’m thinkin’ white, you know? For class.”

“Mint?”

“I like the smell.”

“Okay, freckled violets and mint. Wrapped up in my mother’s best silk ribbon.”

“There you go, Garraty.”

They both chuckled, leaning impossibly closer. Ray pretended not to notice Pete smelling his hair. He’d never had someone take an interest in his menthol scent before. Most people gravitated toward his eucalyptus. Even his mom preferred it, saying he was her favorite candle. He tried to sniff Pete, but all his nose could pick up was rain and sweat and skin. It made him think of that scent he’d first noticed at the drop-off. Sweet summer rain. There had been no indication of who it had come from, and Ray hadn’t been exposed to it again, so there was no telling if it was one of the Walkers or not. Maybe it had just been another family member, watching their little boy walk towards his grave with a bittersweet smile on their face, hoping against hope that they’d see him again.

Ray looked down at their hands. Pete’s fingers were strong and sure. They gripped Ray’s own like at any given moment, Ray would try to pull his fingers free, and Pete would be damned to let them slip away without a fight. The animal inside of him, chained down to the stone and waiting to be released, rumbled happily. He thought that some of the noise might have made it out of his body because suddenly, Pete was staring over at him, a fond smile gracing his lips.

“Go to sleep, Ray,” Pete said, swiping Ray’s wet bangs off his forehead.

But Ray couldn’t sleep. Not now. He had to tell Pete something. He had to tell him how his heart raced whenever Pete looked at him, and how he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have those lips on his. He couldn’t let Pete go another night without knowing just how Ray felt about him.

“Pete, I–”

“We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

Ray swallowed. Pete’s eyes were nothing but glittering stars in the darkness. The morning. He could make it to the morning. It was a promise. Just like those flowers.

“Okay.”

Pete adjusted their positions so that they were both supporting each other, arms around shoulders, and torsos rubbing together with each step. Ray breathed deeply, watching the rain blur the world around him. There was another rumble in his chest when he caught sight of the others. Collie was tilting his head back to catch raindrops in his mouth while Barkovitch happily snapped his picture. Art and Hank were swaying gently as they walked like a couple slow dancing to the beat of their own hearts. Harkness was rubbing soothing circles on Stebbins’s back.

“I got you, Ray,” Pete was whispering into his ear.

Ray blinked heavy eyelids. Stars danced behind his eyes, and when he opened them again, everyone was cast in a wonderful shimmery glow. Just ghosts in the rain.

“I got you.”

Chapter Text

In the early hours of the morning, when the sky was still swathed in midnight blue and birds were still sleeping soundly in the trees, Ray approached Stebbins. The other boy was clutching a handkerchief with the initials ‘R.H.’ like a lifeline, letting out weak coughs like his body had been wrung dry in the night.

“Hey, man,” Ray greeted quietly. Stebbins smelled like a cheap cigarette, sickness clinging to every pore. “How you holdin’ up?”

“‘M just dandy, Garraty,” Stebbins wheezed, sounding anything but.

“Yeah, you look like it.”

Stebbins snorted. He swiped the handkerchief under his nose, where fluid was steadily leaking out like a running faucet.

“Hey, uh, why’d you save Harkness?” Ray asked, unable to help himself. “I mean, I didn’t think that fit your whole…” he gestured lamely at Stebbins’s frame, “your whole thing.”

“Why do you care?”

Ray’s mind blanked. Why did he care? Why was he giving any thought to Stebbins at all? It’s not like they were friends. Stebbins had made it very clear that he wasn’t in this thing to get chummy with the other boys. They were just numbers to him. Competitors that stood in his way of winning. He shouldn’t care about them at all…

So, why did he save Harkness?

If Stebbins was serious about winning, and judging by the grim determination permanently stamped on his face, he was, then why wouldn’t he just leave Harkness alone? He went out of his way to save the beta, probably risking his own warning, and even stuck close to Harkness for an additional two hours. He could’ve skipped right over him like he did everyone else. But for some reason, he didn’t. And now he was here, holding a handkerchief that was clearly Harkness’s and acting like he still didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.

“What if it had been me?” Ray blurted out.

He immediately felt like an idiot, but the question finally got him Stebbins’s full attention. They looked at each other, Ray in a state of shock and Stebbins thoroughly unreadable. Then, Stebbins opened his mouth.

“Fall.”

“What?”

Stebbins gave a harsh sniffle and pointed his eyes to the road.

“Fall, Garraty,” he repeated, “and find out.”

Ray stared at him. Stebbins didn’t look back, dismissing him completely. Pastel blues and yellows leaked over the horizon like fresh paint. Up ahead, someone was issued their second warning. Thankfully, Ray didn’t recognize the number. He figured the conversation was over, if it even qualified as a conversation at all, and mentally prepared himself to leave.

“Looking forward to seeing your mom?”

Ray jolted at the sound of Stebbins’s voice.

“Well, yeah,” Ray said cautiously. He had the odd feeling that he was walking right into a trap.

“Do you think she’s looking forward to seeing you?”

“Of course she–!”

Ray took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He didn’t know why that question had bothered him so much. Maybe because a part of him still felt guilty. Guilty for putting his name in the Lottery, guilty for not backing out, guilty for leaving his mom just like his dad did.

“Why are you asking me that?”

Stebbins shrugged. He was rubbing tenderly at the initials on the handkerchief, eyebrows furrowed as he breathed roughly from his mouth.

“Do you think she’ll be happy, knowing her son is a queer?” Stebbins asked softly. “She’ll have seen it by now. Everyone has. You and McVries holding hands like two lovebirds on the way to their honeymoon.”

Ray recoiled sharply. His brain suddenly conjured up the image of him stripping his clothes off as a kid. Another boy was doing the same across from him. Ray’s eyes tracked the movement of the boy’s hands, drinking in all the skin on display.

Let’s play doctors!

Ray shuddered and closed his eyes tight. A sharp wave of menthol and fear shot into the air, coating Ray’s tongue in a sticky, nauseating film. He could hear his mom’s voice in his head, telling him it was wrong. He’s not supposed to look at boys like that. He’s not supposed to look at Pete like that–

“Shut the fuck up!” Ray snapped.

“It’s okay, Garraty,” Stebbins said, having the audacity to sound like a parent consoling their child. His eyes were red-rimmed and held the barest traces of delirium. “There’s still a chance you’ll go first. That way, you won’t have to see it when they do him.”

Ray broke off into a light jog, needing to get away from Stebbins as quickly as possible. He ignored Pete’s startled shout behind him. When he passed Barkovitch, the blonde boy gave him a wide-eyed stare, probably thinking Ray was about to do something stupid. He looked ready to grab Ray, but Collie said something to him too low for Ray to hear. He didn’t care, breezing past both of them and letting his legs carry him until his lungs felt ready to pop.

When he slipped by the last person, Ray was fit to collapse. He could feel himself giving in to the urge to stop. Maybe he could take a little rest, like Barkovitch had done at the beginning of the Walk. He could sit down, just for a moment. Just to give himself enough time to catch his breath and relieve the pain of his aching muscles. They’d have to let him do that, right? No one else had been afforded the same luxury, but Ray was different. He was Hometown Boy, after all. But he knew, without a doubt, that if he sat down right now, he would never get back up. So, he walked. He walked and breathed and tried not to let the bile crawling up his throat splash all over the pavement. He checked his watch and saw he was going 3.9 mph. That was fine. If he walked fast enough, maybe his thoughts wouldn’t have time to catch up to him.

Ray dug his knuckles into his eyes until the pounding in his head subsided. Fuck, maybe he should slap himself. Isn’t that what Barkovitch did? Slap himself until everything went away, all the bad thoughts, the bad feelings, the bad everything? He rubbed his cheek, feeling the rough scratch of two-day-old stubble. He’d been so nervous the day of the drop-off, he’d almost ripped half of his cheek off with how bad his hands had been shaking. They were shaking right now. He stared at the trembling fingers in a numb daze, wondering if bugs were crawling up and down his bones, making a home just beneath his skin. The thought should have made him sick, but he figured he was a dead man walking anyway. So what if the little critters wanted to start the process early? His lips were moving as he walked. He thought he might have been mumbling to himself, pleading with his mom to please just–

“Don’t tell Dad…”

She would punish him. He knew that. Something about making him walk around town without any clothes on. It was mortifying, sure, enough to make him start bawling and promising he’d never do anything like it ever again, shame eating at his young mind. But, there was something else on his mind, blaring red and hot like a poker to his brain.

“Please don’t tell Dad.”

The next time Ray became aware of his surroundings, the sun was shining brightly in the sky. He wasn’t sure if the Major had already come or if he had gotten his rations for the day. All he knew was that he was back to walking in the middle of the crowd. His watch blinked up at him, almost in accusation. He was going 3.1 mph. There was a warm presence hanging on the edges of his personal space, obviously respecting his boundaries but offering a reassuring pillar of support if he needed it. He turned and wasn’t surprised to see Pete walking beside him.

“Hey,” Pete said softly.

He was holding a tube of Protein in one hand while the other dangled loosely at his side, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out.

“Hey,” Ray said, voice raspy. It felt like he’d been chewing on cotton for the last few hours.

“You didn’t catch anything from Stebbins, did you?”

Just a healthy dose of harsh reality.

“No, uh, no. I just need some water.”

A couple of deep gulps from his canteen refreshed his system. He blinked around at his new surroundings, wondering where they were. Collie was kind of right about this being a dipshit state. Everything looked the same, no matter how many miles they traveled.

“We’re about to go through another town,” Pete said, as if reading his mind. “Couldn’t make out what the sign said, but we should hit it in about 5 miles or so.”

Ray nodded his head and thumbed the rations clipped to his belt. He sucked one down all at once, feeling ravenous. He wondered if someone had put it there for him, or if he’d mechanically taken it from the soldier as naturally as someone clocking into work.

“It was the brain, wasn’t it?” Pete asked. Ray cocked his head. “The brain, Garraty. Out here, it’ll get to us all in the end.”

“Yeah, Pete,” Ray sighed. His mouth still held bitter traces of menthol, and he grimaced. “It was just my brain.”

“I think you scared the shit out of your new pal,” Pete pointed to Barkovitch. The blonde was walking alone, his head in his hands. “He’s been that way all morning.”

“I’ll talk to him later.”

A beat passed. Pete was biting his bottom lip, sneaking glances at Ray like he wasn’t sure if he should say what was on his mind or not. Ray looked at the sky, waiting for the inevitable. He tried not to think of the cameras capturing every angle of him as he struggled both physically and mentally. What was his mother thinking? What were the people that Ray passed on the streets thinking?

A boy needs his father, otherwise he starts getting funny little ideas in his head…

He wondered if his mother blamed herself. Maybe she was thinking that if she hadn’t done this or let him do that, then none of this would’ve happened. He wouldn’t be holding hands with boys he had just met or thinking about kissing them when the sunlight slanted on their faces just right. He would be walking with a girl in mind. A girl he would marry and have kids with. A girl his mother would be proud of.

Fucking Stebbins.

Ray swung his backpack around to the front, digging around until he finally found what he was looking for. A distraction.

“Alright, stay right there, Pete,” Ray said before pumping his arms in a pathetic attempt to jog without really moving his feet any faster. The blisters on his heels protested feebly. “Ah, fuck me…”

He turned around once he was a good few paces in front of Pete, already winded.

“We playin’ ball?” Pete asked with a grin, eyeing the baseball clutched in Ray’s clammy fist.

“Don’t drop it, alright? You ready?”

“Hit me.”

Ray threw the tattered ball, glowing amber as it caught the light, and Pete caught it flawlessly.

“There you go.”

Pete tossed it back underhand. Ray caught it with a satisfied grin, the noise in his head finally fading to a dull hum. They continued like that for a little while. Ray even pretended to shake off his hand with a dramatic wince after a particularly stunning throw from Pete. The other boy just shook his head with a squinty-eyed smile. There was nothing but the sound of their quiet laughter and the easy back and forth of tossing a ball between them. It was almost normal.

Right up until a warning rang out. This time, it was a number Ray was fairly familiar with.

“Warning, number 6!”

Ray’s stomach lurched when he passed Art. The dark-skinned beta had dropped to a crouch on the road, the waistband of his pants straining around his thighs.

“Whoa!” Pete exclaimed. “Don’t take long now!”

“Jesus, Art,” Ray said.

He tried not to look, wanting to give the boy some semblance of privacy as if there weren’t cameras trained on them every second. But it was getting harder and harder not to peek over his shoulder with each step he took.

“He good?” Pete asked.

He was at least doing a pretty good job of keeping his eyes forward, but his mouth was set in a grim line, betraying his concern. Ray continued to walk backward, their game of catch forgotten. The click of a camera sounded. Seriously, Barkovitch?

“He’s still not up yet,” Ray murmured, transfixed as he watched a soldier hop down from the half-track.

“Second warning, number 6!”

“Get up, Art!”

“Fuckin’ nasty,” Pete shivered.

“Pinch it off, my man!”

“It ain’t so easy when there’s–” Art glanced up at the soldier, their gun already poised and ready to shoot. “Son of a–!”

Art sprang up, clutching his jeans as he waddled over to them, sweat dotting his forehead.

“What, you need a gun to your head to get up from a shit? Jesus,” Ray shook his head.

“Goddamn,” Pete laughed, the tension leaving his body.

“Fastest crap I ever took,” Art panted when he caught up to them. Pete easily steadied him, letting the taller boy lean against him as he buttoned his pants.

“Shoulda brought an issue of The New Yorker with you,” Pete quipped.

“Never could go long without a crap,” Art said, fixing the collar of his coat. His breath was still coming out hard and fast. “See, most guys, they crap once a week. Me, I’m a once-a-day type of guy, you know? If I don’t crap once a day, I take a laxative.”

“There are three great truths in the world,” Hank croaked ahead of them.

The stone poked harshly at his guts when Ray noticed how badly the smaller boy was listing to the side. With his dirty clothes and shambling gait, he looked just like the people who slept in alleyways and begged for money in parking lots.

“A good meal, a good screw, and a good shit,” Hank continued. His dry lips cracked open in a tiny, humorless grin. “Yeah, that’s all.”

“Olson’s a smart man,” Ray said, winking at Art.

The beta’s cheeks darkened at the implication, but the bashful smile he gave Ray held traces of pride.

“You keep sayin’ crap, though. What’s up with that?”

“It’s always sounded a little less vulgar to me than the ‘S’ word,” Art explained.

“Well, I ain’t never heard of the Bible forbidding the word shit,” Pete said. “How ‘bout you, Ray?”

“Not me.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not as a rule or anything. It’s just, you know. God, He–”

“Can you, can you–” Pete coughed into his fist. “Sorry, can you break off? You stink.”

Ray snorted. Art, bless him, politely tried to keep the smile on his face even as Pete wheezed with laughter.

“Listen, it’s not your fault. You didn’t have time to wipe. But we shouldn’t all be fuckin’ payin’ for it, you know what I mean?”

“Sorry, Art,” Ray said, pinching his nose.

“I love you,” Pete insisted, squeezing Art’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“Yeah, we love you. Just run like two miles up the road, okay?”

Art shook his head with a laugh before picking up the pace. He settled in beside Hank again, drawn together like magnets. Hank seemed to have no qualms about the smell, letting Art pull him in close until he was tucked firmly beneath the other beta’s long arm.

“That’s true love right there,” Pete commented idly.

Ray stared at them, feeling warm and queasy and jealous all at once. He wished he had never spoken to Stebbins. He wished he could go back to when it was just him and Pete. No cameras, no Walk, no shame. Just two hands fitting together like puzzle pieces.

Ray hummed and turned his gaze down to the road.

“Well, Ray, we’re alone,” Pete said. “How ‘bout it?”

Could Ray bring up his dad right now? Could he really go back to that night, spill all of his dark secrets with this boy he hardly knew, and yet found himself falling for just the same? He looked at Pete, finding nothing but those earnest eyes and the encouraging tilt of his lips.

“It’s just gotta stay between us, Pete,” Ray sighed.

“You have my word, compadre,” Pete said firmly. “And that means something.”

“My dad, uh, you know…” Ray took a moment, trying to find the right words. He felt the ghost of Pete’s fingertips on his wrist and smiled, a small broken thing that seemed to transform him into his younger self. “My dad was my hero. And um, you know, he always wanted to show me things that honestly could’ve gotten him jailed. He wanted to show me books by um, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Mark Twain, Camus. And show me music, real fuckin’ uninhibited music.”

“Yeah,” Pete breathed, his eyes never leaving Ray.

“And just, you know, that was the kind of guy he was. Uninhibited. And just, uh…I don’t know, I just wanted to know the old ways, so he showed it to me.”

“And all that shit’s illegal now.”

“Yeah, I think he thought he had a system. He thought he was being careful, but…”

In Dublin’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty…

“Let’s play some ball,” William Garraty said, tossing his son a dirt-stained baseball. “We’ve gotta make room for that delicious pie or else I may just eat your mother.”

Ginnie Garraty protested from the sink, the tips of her ears bright red. Honey bloomed in the air, syrupy sweet. Ray laughed and caught the ball, ready to grab his glove.

Their front door was busted wide open. Soldiers marched in swiftly, heading straight for his dad. Ray sat up straight, the baseball hitting the ground with a dull thud, forgotten.

“Dad?” he asked, heart thundering wildly in his chest.

“William, what did you do?” Ginnie cried, reaching for her husband, but it was too late.

The soldiers took him by the arms, dragging him out of the house. They smelled like rotten meat and metal. Soldiers of death and destruction. Ray and his mom followed close behind, stumbling down the front porch steps with fear clogging their pores.

“Dad!”

“He says things he doesn’t mean!” his mom screamed.

His dad was made to kneel on the road, the Major standing before him like a vindictive god. Ray and his mom were pushed down to the curb, forced to watch the horrible scene unfold before their very eyes.

“He says things he doesn’t mean!” his mom repeated, wide eyes wet and pleading.

“Mr. William Garraty,” the Major addressed. Patchouli rolled off him in strong, nauseating waves. “You’ve been accused and convicted for high crimes of possession and teaching of banned materials and ideas.”

His dad winced, rich coffee scent turned bitter. He hung his head, a puppet with the strings cut. Ray’s menthol sharply cut through the air.

“Do you pledge allegiance to the State, the System, and the Squad? Here and now, on this street, before your family?”

“Please…” Ray’s mom was shaking beside him. All of the color had drained from her face, making her appear old and frail.

“Or, immediate deactivation.”

His dad glanced over at them. There were too many emotions playing on his face, but Ray caught a glimpse of something hard swimming in his eyes. Still had a little fight left in him.

“There’s still time to be an example for your son,” the Major said. His tone of voice hadn’t changed at all. There was no coaxing, no sympathy. Just a calm indifference as he tore a family to shreds. “There’s still time for you to make the honorable choice. It’s your decision.”

Ray swallowed as his dad, with tremendous effort, got to his feet. His coffee scent swirled. Anger, grief, fear, determination.

“No, sir.”

“Oh my God,” his mom gasped. She dug sharp nails into Ray’s arm, their bodies swaying as they kneeled, transfixed by the sight of William Garraty standing tall and proud against the Major.

“I will pledge no such allegiance,” his dad announced, voice firm.

“Oh my God!”

The Major reached for his gun, pulling it out swiftly and disengaging the safety.

“Oh my God!”

His mom grasped desperately at Ray, tugging him in close like she meant to shield him from any stray bullets. But Ray couldn’t feel it when her nails drew blood, couldn’t hear her screams rise in volume. Everything had narrowed down to his dad, worn face unwavering and without fear.

“Good luck to you, Mr. Garraty,” the Major said.

“No!”

“May God show mercy.”

“NO!”

“Never forget who you are, Ray.”

The trigger was pulled.

“God…” Pete said, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Ray said faintly. The echo of the blast still rang in his ears. “I’m alright.”

“No, Ray. It’s not alright.”

There was the muffled, static-filled chatter from a soldier’s walkie-talkie. Ray turned to Pete, mouth pulled in a thin line.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s not,” he dropped the volume of his voice to a hoarse whisper, leaning in close to Pete’s ear. “And that’s why I’m gonna kill him.”

“No,” Pete scoffed after a beat.

“Yup.”

“How? Ray, you can’t Wish–”

“I have a Wish,” Ray cut in. “A Wish that will give me the ability to do it once I’m the Winner. Once I’m close enough to him.”

“What?”

Ray sighed. He brought up his baseball to shield his mouth, aware of the cameras and soldiers watching them.

“I’m gonna Wish for the carbine,” Ray whispered.

“The gun?” Pete’s eyebrows were scrunched, thinking. “And they’d have to give it to you.”

“Yeah, and that’s how I’d do it. Right fucking there.”

“But you gotta win first.”

“Yeah, Pete, I’ll tell you this. Nobody wants it more than me,” Ray asserted. “Nobody here wants it more than I do–

“I’m not arguin’ with that, compadre. But–”

“Listen, my dad was the last true good person on this planet. I swear to fucking God,” Pete’s eyes dimmed at that, but Ray continued, unable to stop now that he’d started. “And he was willing to risk everything in order to show me the old ways. This is my chance to do my part. Change things. The way he wanted to.”

“Yeah, but–”

“My chance to cut off the head of the fucking dragon.”

“Ray,” Pete said. “He chose to leave you. How’s that good?”

Ray stared at him, a rush of emotions making him light-headed.

“Garraty, do you have any idea how hard it is to fuckin’ kill a man?” Pete asked roughly. “I’ve killed a deer, and that’s hard enough. Killing a man is only easy for…a certain kind of person.”

“I’ll become that kind of person,” Ray said, even though the thought of it shattered something within him. The beast howled in outrage.

“That’d be fucking sad,” Pete lamented. “Those kind of people can’t see the beauty in this world.”

“What fucking beauty?”

“The sky! The trees, the birds! Fuck, man, everything!” Pete gripped Ray’s wrist, holding on tight when Ray’s first instinct was to rip himself away from the contact. “Do you know what else is beautiful? Us. ‘Cause we’re…we’re real friends, aren’t we?”

“Pete, what does it matter?”

Ray shook Pete’s hand off. Pete didn’t try to grab him again. Despite his anger, his bitter resentment of everything the world stood for, Ray mourned the loss immediately.

“Whether we had three hours, three days, or three decades…this moment? This fuckin’ moment? It matters, man. Say it.”

“This matters. This moment matters.”

“Yeah. Goddamn right, Musketeer.”

The beast tugged at its chains. The stone shifted, sliding through blood and meat and bone.

“But it doesn’t really matter, does it, Pete?” Ray asked, feeling untethered and wild. “Because when this moment’s over, I’m still gonna go fucking kill him.”

“Fair enough,” Pete said, sounding tired. “But realize, even if you pull it off, they’ll fuckin’ kill you–”

“You don’t know that shit. I’ll be the Winner. That’s uncharted territory.”

“But what about your mom?”

“Oh, don’t fucking bring up my mom, Pete,” Ray seethed.

“What about your mom?” Pete repeated, unflinching in the face of Ray’s slowly simmering rage. “Does she know?”

“No, she doesn’t! This thing’s bigger than me and my mom.”

Pete shook his head, clearly disappointed. He sucked in his lips, like he was trying not to unleash his own flood of harsh words.

“Pete, look at that bunch of fucking pigs,” Ray was pointing to a family sitting in the grass beside the road. They were stony-faced, plates of half-eaten sandwiches forgotten in front of them as they stared at the miserable group of boys passing. “They wanna see our fucking brains on the concrete, man. They’d just as soon see yours!”

“It’s all how you fuckin’ see it,” Pete urged. “Look harder. See that? That’s a family, and they love each other. We can’t get mad at them for being conditioned to think that this is okay when we’re the fuckin’ same!”

Ray didn’t answer, glaring at the road. He hated that Pete was right. He hated that no matter what he said, Pete had a way of turning all of his words upside down. What was Pete even getting out of this? There was one Winner. One. Whether Ray won or not, Pete had no say in what Ray Wished for.

“You know what, Ray? Your Wish means nothing if you don’t believe in that family over there. If you don’t believe they’re worth being saved, you may as well sit down right now and let them riddle you with bullets because…vengeance, Ray?”

They looked at each other. Pete’s eyes were bright and firm in their resolve. With his muscles bunched tight and his face set in persistent determination, Ray thought Pete had never looked so beautiful.

“Vengeance is not enough.”

Slowly but surely, the fight began to leave Ray’s body. He unclenched his fists, feeling the scratchy material of his baseball scrape against his dry skin. He wanted nothing more than to hold Pete’s hand in that moment. A steady anchor as his ship rocked violently against crashing waves.

“See that?” Pete pointed up ahead. Ray squinted and was treated to the sight of a rainbow slicing through gray clouds. “Now that’s something to be grateful for.”

Pete stared at him as he drowsily took in the bright colors against a muted backdrop. Barkovitch snapped three pictures in quick succession, his hands shaky. Collie watched him do it with a quiet snort. Art was speaking to Hank in a low voice, taking most of his weight. Ray couldn’t see Harkness, but he could smell his vanilla somewhere behind him, tangled with Stebbins’s sandalwood.

“You ever had a boyfriend, Ray?”

The question caught Ray off guard, and he turned to look at Pete fast enough to make his head spin. Pete’s eyes were still bright, dancing with some unknown emotion that seemed to light up his whole face. Gone was the exhaustion and emotional turmoil Ray had brought on, replaced with something warm and affectionate. His earnest eyes bounced across Ray’s face, reading every emotion, and he laughed softly. Ray glanced at the cameras, waiting for the fear to come, the shame.

“Pete, I…”

“Neither have I,” Pete said simply. That secret smile was glued to his face. “Wanna walk with me a while?”

Ray felt butterflies swarm his stomach. The threat of the cameras was disregarded, thrown out like a pair of old shoes. He swallowed and stared directly into Pete’s eyes, hoping to convey all the things he was too afraid to say out loud.

“Yeah,” Ray said softly. His lips made a valiant effort to lift in response to that smile. That damn smile. “Yeah, I do, Pete.”

Pete patted his back, and before he knew it, Ray was being gently knocked aside. He steadied himself just before he could trip over his own feet, hearing Pete’s bright peal of laughter.

“Warning, number 47!”

Ray quickly returned to his previous place, pretending that he was about to repay the favor. Pete reflexively ducked out of the way, earning his own warning. Ray let himself laugh, feeling everything wash away, like water down the drain.

“You got me,” Pete smiled.

Ray took his hand in his own. Warm, calloused fingers slid together. For once, the shame was gone. Vanished in the wind as Ray held on strong, weathering the storm with Pete right by his side. Where he belonged.

“I got you.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Barko.”

Barkovitch looked up from his can of pie filling. It looked like apple this time.

“I don’t got any fuckin’ blueberry pie left,” he mumbled around his spoonful.

Ray breathed a quiet laugh. He felt like a slowly deflating balloon, drifting closer and closer to the ground as the minutes ticked by. He had finally managed to catch Barkovitch alone. Collie had hung back to shuffle along with Art and Hank. Every so often, Hank’s scent would take on something sick and sour. Art’s jasmine would follow right after, calming. Harkness was halfway between Pete and Stebbins, scribbling in his notebook like a man on a mission. He narrowly avoided skidding across loose pebbles twice, earning him a warning for one, but that didn’t stop his hand from flying across the pages. Pete and Stebbins were both quiet, thoughtful, the peace only broken up by a few sharp coughs from the latter.

“I didn’t come to steal your pie,” Ray said. The wind had died down momentarily, like the world was waiting on bated breath for the next move. “Just wanted to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” Barkovitch asked, shoulders jumping anxiously.

“Look, I uh, I’m sorry, you know. If I scared you earlier,” Barkovitch’s spoon dropped in the can with a faint, metallic clank. He blinked at the road. “It, uh, I wasn’t really…Stebbins just sort of fucked with my head, you know? He’s like that. I don’t know why. Maybe he’s starting to lose it…I mean, we all are. But, it’s just, I don’t know, I got stuck in my head. So, you know, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t fuckin’ scare me, Garraty,” Barkovitch said, turning to Ray. “I don’t give a fuck what you do.”

“C’mon, Barkovitch, don’t be like that–”

“No! No. I only agreed to be your friend 'cause I felt fuckin’ bad for you, man,” Barkovitch continued, a wild grin on his sticky lips. “If you wanna apologize to someone, why don’t you apologize to your fuckin’ mama for joinin’ this stupid Walk in the first place, huh?”

“Warning! First warning, 4!”

Ray tore his eyes away from Barkovitch, glancing ahead. A boy was hobbling along a couple of paces in front of them. His white socks were stained red where they disappeared into his sneakers. He nervously stared at the half-tracks with glassy eyes.

“Please help me,” he begged. “My feet…”

The soldiers looked on dispassionately.

“You don’t mean that,” Ray lowly insisted.

The boy made a beeline for the nearest vehicle, crying and shouting. Ray felt like he was watching from somewhere outside of his body, just as detached and emotionless as the soldiers holding their guns. Barkovitch snorted quietly beside him.

“We’re not fuckin’ friends, Garraty,” Barkovitch said, his voice almost drowned out by the boy’s pleading. “You just can’t fucking stand the thought of being alone.”

Number 4 must’ve been further gone than Ray thought. The boy stepped in front of the half-track, intending to climb on, only to be cracked in the face with the butt of a carbine. He fell to the ground, sputtering and groaning. A moment later, his legs were ripped apart beneath the back treads with the sickening crunch of shattered bones. His guttural screams were deafening. Ray flinched from the noise, covering his face and feeling suddenly, violently ill.

“Warning, 4! Second warning!”

A warm, trembling body pressed harshly into his side. He peeked between his fingers to see Barkovitch hiding his face in Ray’s chest. His teeth were chattering, hands empty as his fingers clung desperately to Ray’s shirt. Ray shakily cupped the back of his head. Someone dry-heaved behind them. The boy continued to scream.

“Warning, 4! Third and final warning!”

Pete was uttering shallow groans, shoulders nearly touching his ears as he walked. No one dared to look back. Collie was breathing harshly, shaking his head like it might get rid of the horrible sound of the boy’s wailing. Stebbins and Harkness were steadily staring forward, now easily within each other’s reach. Art was clutching his rosary in one hand, the other shielding Hank’s eyes.

A gunshot pierced through the air, cutting off Number 4’s screams for good.

At least his feet don’t hurt anymore, Ray thought numbly.

Barkovitch jolted against him at the sound, breath leaving him in harsh pants. Ray’s stiff fingers messily carded through his tangled hair. A body bumped into them from the side. Another boy lost in the madness, shedding his clothes as he ran, a dark, skeletal blur.

“Holy fuck!” Barkovitch hissed, wide eyes tracking the boy. “Who the fuck is that?”

His clove scent was strong, burning Ray’s nose and stinging his eyes. He didn’t bother to thumb away the tear sliding down his cheek. It landed in Barkovitch’s hair, disappearing within the blonde strands.

“It’s Tressler,” Ray said. His own voice sounded foreign to his ears. Dull, hopeless. The sight and sound of Number 4 had broken something inside of him. “The guy…The kid with the radio.”

“Warning! Third warning, 24!”

Tressler veered off the road. The carbines thundered.

Ray was shaking badly now, holding Barkovitch against him like the other boy was the only thing keeping all of his pieces together.

“Lord, I wanna go home,” Art was muttering. Fear clung to them all, mixing in with the sour stench of death. “Jesus, I wanna go home. I wanna go home. I wanna go home…”

“Ray…”

Barkovitch was staring up at him with his bright blue eyes. The light was fading, the fight was leaving. Ray held him tighter, trying to get his breathing under control. Before he knew what he was doing, he was humming the lullaby his mom used to sing to him. Barkovitch’s face pinched, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Ray continued, staring at the white lines on the road, wondering what they’d look like with his blood splattered against them.

An old billboard, stained and faded from the sun, almost seemed to mock them as they passed.

NEXT TIME TAKE THE TRAIN

COMFORT RELAX

Wind howled through the group, carrying Ray’s voice along with it. It seemed the world had gotten what it wanted. Tears sprang into Pete’s eyes. Collie clenched his fists. Harkness sniffled. Hank pulled something out of his mouth, peering at it with unfocused eyes. Ray abruptly cut off the soothing hum.

“I think I’m in love with Pete,” he said. Barkovitch shuddered. “I’m in love with Pete. God, I love him. I fucking love him.”

“Garraty–”

“I want him to live. I need him to live. I can’t, it’s not, I–”

“Fuck! Ray.”

Brown eyes met blue. Tear tracks sparkled on Barkovitch’s face. Ray held his breath before releasing it in a painful rush. His chest ached, his lungs were on fire. His feet…

“Gonna fuckin’ marry him when this is all over or what?”

“What?”

“You and…McVries. Gonna settle down in some nice fuckin’ house with the white picket fence and have a dog named fuckin,’ I don’t know, Camus or some shit?”

Ray gave a startled laugh. It felt like knives were in his throat. Barkovitch winced at the sound, but his lips were already stretching into a grin.

“Fucking Camus? Seriously? I was thinking Blueberry.”

Barkovitch chuckled, a few stray tears slipping down his cheeks. Ray smiled so wide he was worried he’d rip lines across his face. Collie was staring over at them like they had something contagious. Pete lingered at the threshold of Ray’s bubble, not willing to cross it when Barkovitch was around. It was obvious he wanted to check in on Ray, possibly worried that Ray was starting to lose it, too.

“You’re right,” Ray said once the smile had left his face and the sun was sitting low.

Barkovitch was walking beside him, no longer tucked away in the safety of Ray’s arms. They held each other’s waists, not willing to let go just yet. They stared at one another, the last of the sun’s rays casting shadows across their faces.

“I, you know, I don’t wanna be alone.”

Barkovitch’s eyes softened barely a fraction. Ray decided it was a good look on him.

“I know,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Who fuckin’ does?”

“You’re really alright, Barko,” Ray smiled.

It was nothing like the half-crazed grin holding his face hostage earlier. It was lighter, more like himself. He wanted to apologize for not laughing at Barkovitch’s joke before the Walk. He wanted to ask why he’d baited Rank. Most of all, he wanted to give the boy a hug.

“Fuck you, Garraty.”

“There he is.”

They shared an easy laugh. The floodlights flickered to life. Pete was still lingering, hidden somewhere in the shadows. Ray thought it was about time to make his way back to him.

“Go bother Collie or something,” Ray suggested. “I’m sure he needs his daily dose of Barko.”

“Fuck off,” Barkovitch laughed, flipping Ray the bird but following his advice just the same.

“Hey, Pete,” Ray greeted warmly.

The other boy had silently slipped into Barkovitch’s previously occupied space as smoothly as two magnets clicking into place.

“You smell like autumn fuckin’ threw up on you,” Pete winced, scrunching his nose.

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Ray chuckled. Something suddenly occurred to him. “Hey, Pete, how come your scent isn’t as strong? I mean, I know you’re a beta and all, but…everyone else has been so, I don’t know, pungent?”

Pete laughed softly. He was rubbing at his clothed arms. A brisk chill had settled upon them again. At least it didn’t look like rain tonight.

“You got that fuckin’ right, Garraty. Whew…” Pete waved his hand in front of his face.

“So?”

Pete’s expression sobered. He glanced at Ray thoughtfully, a touch of sadness hidden within.

“Maybe I just got more control than the lot of you, Garraty.”

Commotion behind him stole Ray’s attention. He peered over his shoulder to see Stebbins and Harkness speaking in hushed voices. Harkness had his hand firmly wrapped around Stebbins’s bicep, like he was holding him back. Stebbins was coughing and gesturing weakly to a point in front of them. Vanilla and smoke battled in the air.

“Trouble in paradise, you think?” Pete mused.

Harkness and Ray locked eyes for a moment. The beta shook his head once before turning back to Stebbins, spitting something at him that had Stebbins looking down at the road, briefly ashamed.

“I don’t know…”

“Guys?”

They glanced ahead. Art was roughly shaking Hank’s shoulder, worry transforming his jasmine scent into something rotten and bitter. They quickly joined the pair.

“Hey, Art. What’s going on?” Ray asked, pulse spiking.

“I don’t know, man. He’s not, he’s not respondin’ to anything I say,” Art said, voice shaky. He was dabbing a wet scarf across Hank’s forehead. He looked to Ray and Pete, wide eyes filled with fear. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Ray reassured.

He tried not to let his own voice betray the nerves eating him up inside. Hank looked awful. His eyes were sunken in, devoid of any life. His skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. He was quietly muttering something to himself, broken syllables that sounded like they hurt to come out.

“Here, let’s do this.”

Ray immediately stepped in, shouldering most of Hank’s weight. Hank let out a weak groan as he was jostled.

“I know, buddy, I know,” Ray whispered. Hank smelled like battery acid. “Art, you gotta calm down, okay? Let’s give him something good to take the edge off.”

Ray began to pump out strong waves of eucalyptus. Pete squeezed his shoulder, a gentle reminder not to take it too far, lest he get a warning. Art gave a shaky sigh before doing what he was told. Jasmine and eucalyptus swirled together, creating a soothing, intoxicating cloud. Pete sighed beside them, already feeling the effects. Ray could admit that he was starting to feel a little light-headed himself, but he shook he quickly shook himself out of it, focusing on Hank.

“Gar…Ga.”

Art inhaled sharply. Ray gave him a look. Keep it together.

“Ga…G-Garraty?”

“Hey, Olson,” Ray said, somehow managing to keep the tremors out of his voice. “How you feeling?”

“Uh, hit…” Hank’s speech was slurred like his tongue was too big for his mouth. “Hit. Truck.”

Art furrowed his brows, sharing a look with Ray.

“Translation: He feels like he got hit by a truck,” Pete supplied helpfully.

Hank hummed. His head swayed as if filled with helium. Art cupped his forehead, sweeping at his bangs. His baseball cap was almost knocked loose, but Art righted it before it could fall. Ray caught sight of something that made his stomach lurch and hurriedly looked away.

“Good. Good one, Pete…” Hank’s head rolled to the side. He blinked blearily at Art before his face broke out in an exhausted grin. “H-Hey, Art. Tooth.”

Art reached into the front pocket of his coat, shakily pulling out a small object to show them. Cupped in his hand was a bloody tooth.

“Shit,” Pete breathed.

“He lost it earlier,” Art said, stashing the tooth away quickly like he was afraid someone might steal it from him. “Almost didn’t wanna show me.”

“Gum,” Hank haphazardly threw his arm up, nearly smacking himself in the face. A trembling finger pointed somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth.

“Yeah, the gum’s fillin’ the hole now.”

“Didn’t think it could get any nastier, and yet,” Pete shuddered, “it fuckin’ did.”

“When was the last time he ate?” Ray asked.

“Before the, well, you know…”

“Right. Okay. Does he have anything left?”

“Just about everythin’. I already tried feedin’ him some crackers I packed, but,” Art shrugged his shoulders to convey it hadn’t gone very well.

Ray did a mental inventory. He had a tube of Spam left, a half-filled canteen, and…

He patted his pockets, feeling relief rush through him when he finally heard the familiar crinkle of foil. He took out the crumbled parting gift from his mom, opening it up to find about half a dozen broken chunks of a leftover cookie.

“Thank God,” Ray sighed.

He held a piece up to Hank’s dry lips, urging him to eat. The sugar would hopefully help to get his energy levels up, but it wouldn’t last long. Hank was nearing the finish line.

The short beta allowed Ray to push the cookie into his mouth, and everyone let out a collective breath when he started sluggishly chewing. Art even laughed, eyes glistening with unshed tears, when Hank let his mouth drop open to accept another bite. He finished the rest painstakingly slow, but Ray was glad to see it. He tossed the wrapper to the side, feeling the weight of Hank’s silence. Litterbug.

“Thanks, Ray,” Art whispered. His eyes were fixed on Hank, tracking every detail of his face.

“It won’t last,” Ray countered, lips pulled into a thin line. “We’ll keep him steady for now, ease the heaviness, but it won’t last, Art.”

“I know. God, I know.”

“It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna make it okay.”

The momentary sugar rush only lasted an hour. Hank was back to mumbling incomprehensible nonsense, tongue sticking out like a panting dog. Art tried to give him water to no avail. He kept giving Ray these desperate, mournful looks. Ray glanced at his watch. Sunrise wouldn’t come for another six hours. They wouldn’t make it that long. Hank wouldn’t make it that long.

“Art,” he called. The beta looked up, eyes wet. Ray swallowed. “I, I’m gonna try something, okay? I, uh, fuck,” he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, “I’m gonna bite him.”

He heard Pete take in a sharp breath. A bite from an alpha sent a rush of endorphins through anyone, no matter the classification. It was meant to be a claim, a way to protect what was theirs. Sometimes it was used to calm someone down, restore an alpha’s control over the situation by rendering the other person high on their own emotions. Ray had never bitten anyone, too afraid to. He worried he’d go too far or lose himself to the bite, not the other way around. Even now, he was concerned about damaging Hank further, breaking him into a million little pieces instead of putting him back together again. He didn’t know if the bite would work, not with the way Hank looked now. But it was worth a try. And damned if Ray wasn’t gonna try.

Art’s eyes bugged out at the announcement.

“You really think that’s gonna work, Ray?”

“It’s all we’ve got right now,” Ray said, feeling his gums itch at the thought.

Art glanced at the road and then at Hank, considering as if he had any other option. Hank was muttering something about God, maybe, or a garden. None of it made any sense. The light in his eyes was almost nonexistent. He was fading fast. And Art knew it.

“Okay,” he said, voice shaking. “Okay, Ray. Yeah, bite him.”

“You’ll get a warning, Ray,” Pete uttered beside him, nervously watching the soldiers.

“Not if they don’t see. Pete, cover me. I’ll be quick.”

“Ray…”

“I can’t, Pete,” Ray said, voice thick with emotion. He looked into Pete’s eyes, pleading. “I can’t let him go. Not like this.”

Pete swallowed, searching Ray’s eyes. It was like he was inside of Ray, testing the integrity of the beast’s chains, contemplating whether or not Ray would be fit to handle something so life-changing. Finally, he sighed and issued a short, sharp nod.

“Do what you have to do, compadre.”

Ray nodded back, feeling the backs of his eyes burn. He turned back to Art and Hank. Hank’s feet moved sloppily now, like there really was nothing but jelly inside of them. He met Art’s gaze, apologetic, but Art just stared back, resolute.

“Do it, Ray.”

Ray grabbed Hank’s wrist. It felt like lifting the wing of a baby bird. So fragile. One wrong move and it would snap beneath his fingers. He ducked down, disappearing behind Pete’s shadow, trusting the other boy to keep him hidden from the trigger-happy soldiers. His lips pulled back, revealing sharper canines coated in saliva. It was now or never.

“I’m sorry, Hank,” he whispered before biting down hard.

The effect was instantaneous. Hank’s head snapped up, eyes wide and glowing a brilliant gold. Art immediately covered them with one of his big hands. No sound emerged from Hank. His chest heaved, lips quivering. Ray let go, quickly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He stared down at the bite mark, his own eyes flickering a faint red, feeling the beast howl gleefully within him. The mark stood out starkly against Hank’s pale skin, bright pink and dripping blood. Ray swiped that away too, worried someone would notice.

Hank suddenly let out a loud, stuttering gasp and almost keeled over, taking Art and Ray with him.

“Warning, number 46!”

“Warning, number 6!”

“Warning, number 47!”

“Fuck,” Pete hissed. “C’mon. Keep the pace.”

Ray righted himself, thumbing at Hank’s pulse. Art walked along on shaky legs like a newborn deer, hands clutching at Hank as he muttered a weak curse. Hank’s heartbeat was strong and steady, even as his body sagged between them. There was something else inside of Ray, a piece of Hank shining bright. Alive. Ray gave Art a single, affirmative nod.

“H-Holy shit,” Art gasped, startling a laugh out of Pete. Art’s own lips lifted into a watery grin, looking at Ray like he was Jesus in the flesh. His jasmine flowed through the air happily, bright and full of sweetness. “Garraty, I don’t, I didn’t think…Jesus!”

“Yeah,” Ray said absently, eyes fading back to their natural hue. His gums still ached, the animal part of his brain reminding him that there were others still unmarked. Unclaimed. He could barely hear over the roaring in his head. “Yeah, man. Yeah. Jesus.”

“Musketeer,” Pete gushed, squeezing Ray’s shoulder with a mega-watt grin.

“He, He’s gonna be alright now, right, Ray?” Art asked hopefully. “I heard the bite does all sorts of things, but it helps, doesn’t it? It’ll help him?”

“I think so,” Ray said, and then with a little more certainty, “I hope so.”

“Can you feel it? I mean, can you feel…him?” Pete’s voice was hushed, still conscious of the others around them.

Ray looked at Pete, his body thrumming with the leftover effects of biting, claiming, someone. Hank was a part of him now. A part of his pack. The thought almost sent Ray into a fit of hysterics, but he stomped it down. Their bond pulsed briefly before settling into a faint thrum that reminded Ray of rain on his bedroom windowsill.

“Yeah, Pete. Yeah, I do.”

“I owe you, Ray,” Art said seriously.

“No, Art–”

“I do. As God as my witness, I owe you.”

Ray sighed. There was no point in arguing, not when their good spirits were already so sparse. It had been a close call with Hank. Ray wasn’t sure he could take another one.

“Alright.”

“–Christ! Fucking calm down, freak!”

They all looked up at Collie’s shouting. He was roughly shaking Barkovitch’s shoulder, face twisted up like he smelled something bad. Barkovitch was hitting his own face repeatedly, spitting out curses. He kept glancing back at something on the road. It was too dark for Ray to see what it was, and it was long gone before he looked back at the pair again. Ray secretly hoped it was Barkovitch’s spoon. The sound of Barkovitch’s molars grinding down on the hard metal set Ray’s teeth on edge, and there had been times where he physically had to restrain himself from ripping it out of the blonde’s mouth and smacking him on the head with it.

Barkovitch’s scent had spiked dramatically. Ray wondered if he’d ever be able to stomach the scent of cloves again. He watched as the out of control beta cried out and pushed Collie away from him.

“Warning! First warning, number 5!”

"Warning, number 48!"

This only further agitated Barkovitch, who began wildly pulling at his hair. Collie shook his head, grumbling to himself.

“The fuck is his problem?” Pete questioned.

“I don’t know,” Ray said quietly, feeling lost.

The camera was still hanging securely around Barkovitch’s neck. Food pouch was accounted for, as was the canteen. Maybe Barkovitch had dropped a can, but Ray was positive he would have heard it clatter to the ground. And surely, the beta wouldn’t flip out over something as simple as a can of pie filling.

“Well, he better cut it out before he gets his ticket.”

The thought made Ray suddenly and violently nauseous. He stumbled, close to dropping Hank, but Art steadied the shorter boy with a huff.

“Warning! Second warning, 47!”

Barkovitch’s frantic eyes met Ray’s own. They were red-rimmed and glistening. Ray felt a pull toward him, unaware he’d begun to pick up his pace until Pete caught his arm.

“Easy, Ray,” he murmured, digging his fingers into Ray’s flannel. “Don’t start actin’ dumb now. Two hours. Two hours and you’re free.”

Barkovitch whipped his head back around to face forward. Collie lingered at the edges of his space, shooting him uneasy glances.

“Let Parker deal with it. I guarantee that whatever’s fucking with Barkovitch’s head right now is still gonna be there later,” Pete threw his arm around Ray’s shoulder. “Just take it easy, alpha. Look after Olson.”

The reminder sent a jolt through Ray’s system. He looked down at the other beta, unable to believe he’d actually bitten him. The bond between them was a strange feeling, something that Ray found himself liking more and more. He prodded gently at it, feeling Hank shudder beneath him. Art gave Ray a curious glance, but otherwise stayed silent. He had taken to cradling Hank’s face in his palm, brushing tenderly at his jaw. When he leaned down to press his lips to Hank’s cheek in a fleeting kiss, Ray turned to Pete, feeling like he was intruding.

“Pete,” Ray brought his lips to the other boy’s ear, needing his words to stay between them. “I saw something. Under Hank’s hat. His hair…”

“What about it?”

“It was…gray.”

“No…No, Garraty. It must’ve been a trick of the light or something,” his voice cracked. Ray realized that Pete had started to shake. “Dust.”

“I know what I saw, Pete,” Ray whispered firmly. He glanced at Art and Hank, but they were both too wrapped up in their own heads to hear them. “It was gray. Pete…I think being on this road, it changes us. I mean, really changes us. Only one of us ever gets to leave it…But I’m starting to think that’s just a fairytale we tell ourselves to sleep at night,” Pete looked over at him, eyes shimmering like stars, “Pete, I don’t think any of us leave this road. We all die here. Or we live forever, I don’t know. But we never leave it. We can’t.”

“Suspended in time, huh? Our bodies get saggy and our hair turns gray, but we’re still the same. An infinite moment,” Pete breathed. “An eternity on this road.”

“Kind of wish it was somewhere a little nicer?” Ray teased quietly.

“No,” Pete laughed, still staring at Ray. “No, Ray. I like the view. I could live with it.”

“Or die.”

“That too.”

Ray wound his arm around Pete’s waist, dragging him in closer. The Musketeers were all here, and they were safe. Collie was sticking close to Barkovitch, and Ray knew without turning around that Harkness was doing the same with Stebbins. Ray leaned his head against Pete’s, breathing deeply.

An eternity on this road.

Surprisingly, Ray found he could live with that. Or, his brain helpfully reminded him, he could die with it.

In any case, what other option did he have?