Chapter Text
Ray regretted it the second his Mom drove away.
He already missed her warmth. Her comforting hugs. Her voice. He should’ve stayed in the car.
Running back to beg her to take him home wasn’t an option, and, anyway, the deadline to back out had passed a day ago. ‘Better to accept it now’, thought Ray. He figured that’d be his mantra while being here. His eyes drifted to the 49 other men, all representing different states.
He moved to sit down while his bag was being checked, the rough concrete scratching the back of his thighs. He noticed the guy sitting next to him. He looked to be about in his 20s, with dark skin and kind eyes. The most noticeable, though, was the scar along his face. He had the urge to ask what the cause was but decided against it. I mean, he hadn't even greeted the man.
“Hey, I’m, uh, Ray Garraty,”
Ray pairs his words with a friendly smile and an out-stretched hand. Despite knowing how it would end, Ray hoped he would make a friend during this thing. One of them would be dead eventually, or maybe both, but he would probably appreciate the company whilst it lasted.
“Pete. Peter McVries.” Says Pete, his eyes assessing Ray for a moment before shaking his hand.
Pete’s grip was strong and warm, matching his overall vibe.
“You ready for this?”
‘Nope’, was the first thing that came to Ray’s mind, but confidence is key, as they say. Ray hoped the shrug he gave Pete was enough, which it really wasn’t. They conversed about different things. Ideas, opinions, other contestants, and this place. Each name that flowed through their conversation was followed by a glance at said person.
Billy Stebbins, who was practically a machine. He’s absolutely built, and his expression was blank. He was observing the others just like Pete and Ray.
Hank Olson, radiating confidence and talking about how he had a ‘plan’ for The Long Walk, while digging into a clementine.
Collie Parker, sitting a few feet away from Ray and Pete, mostly keeping to himself. His long black hair splayed over his shoulders. He seemed respectable enough. Ray would have to get to know him later.
Gary Barkovitch, sitting somewhere near Hank. His legs were criss-crossed and he had an awkward smile plastered onto his face. He looked to be trying to get to know the others, but it wasn't going along too great.
Richard Harkness, who was writing in a book. It looked like a.... diary or something? Hey, whatever you gotta do to not lose your mind. He seemed calmer than the others. Of course, still nervous, but in an excited way. Weird.
Art Baker sat close to Hank and Gary, the three forming an open circle amongst themselves. In his hands was a Bible. He seemed to be switching from reading bible verses to chatting with the other boys.
What really caught their attention though, was a boy with blue eyes and light brown hair. He was pacing around, not too far away from Collie. The sight of the boy’s adolescent face had Ray knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. Last he checked, the Long Walk only allowed men who were 18 and up, and this boy looked no older than 16.
“Hey. Hey, you okay?” Asked Ray, hoping that the boy really was 18 and just had a ridiculous baby face. The boy stopped pacing, surprised that anyone was actually addressing him. His head whipped towards Ray, eyes timid and anxious.
“Me? Uh, yeah. I'm okay. Just getting warmed up.” His tone held an air of fake confidence. It was blatantly clear now that the boy wasn’t 18.
“Plenty of miles later to get warmed up. What’s your name?” Asked Pete, now confused as well, but also a bit amused.
“Curley.” Replied the Walker, his anxiousness seeming to ease up now. He let a small smile peek through.
“Well, Curley, how old are you?”
Curley looked away, taking a few seconds before answering.
“...18.”
Yeah sure, and Ray was the vice president of Tennesee.
Ray couldn't understand how he was accepted. Even a blind man could tell that this kid wasn't even remotely close to being 18. The soldiers must've just enjoyed the idea of a teenager being involved in such a horrible thing.
“Yeah, the kid lied to qualify.” Said Hank, voicing what they were all thinking. “Kid, if you’re a day over 16, I’ll eat my fucking shoes.” Hank used a piece of his clementine to point at Curley, the gesture surprisingly accusatory. Ray thought that the kid seemed younger than 16. Most likely 14 or 15. Either way, still too young to be involved in this shitshow. Curley’s smile faded, his nervous expression returning. He picked up his bag before walking off.
Ray and Pete had started talking with Art, Hank, and Gary. Well… not really with Gary. He was a little weird, but Ray didn't have the heart to exclude him entirely. Their conversation consisted of Hank’s unique catch-phrase ‘Raring to Rip’ and Gary’s pathetic attempt at making everyone laugh with ‘My Meemaw on the bowl in the morning.’ No one laughed at that, but Ray could’ve sworn he heard a giggle that sounded strangely like Curley somewhere near them. Their back-and-forth came to a halt once Pete pointed out an approaching vehicle. In that vehicle stands the Major, his uniform pristine and his expression intimidating.
Ray puts his sunhat on, standing up as the Major grabs a clipboard and starts calling out names. He only paid attention to the numbers of the names he knew, unlike Harkness, who was jotting down every little thing he heard in that little notebook of his. The Major started shouting names.
Gary Barkvitch, number 5.
Art Baker, number 6.
Adam “Curley” White, number 7. Ray’s eyes followed Curley as he went up to get his tag. He wondered if the Major would care if Curley was underage.
Pete McVries, number 23.
Billy Stebbins, number 38.
Hank Olson, number 46.
Then him, who was number 47. That was all he would be known as now, at least to the sadistic viewers of this walk. After him went Collie, who was 48, and Harkness, who was 49.
The Major started explaining as the soldiers handed everyone their rations for the day. He talked about the war, the ‘laziness’ that had taken over their country, and how important this competition was. If Ray had any less self control, he would've snagged a gun from one of the soldiers and shot the Major right then and there. He moved on to the rules, which were quite simple.
Walk until there is only one left.
Keep a speed of 3 miles per hour.
If you fall below 3 miles, you get a warning.
If you can't speed up in 10 seconds, you get a second warning.
If you get 3 warnings, you receive your ticket.
Ticket, another word for death. Ray didn’t understand why they used a different word for it, as most of them would be dead by the time the 2nd day ends. He thinks they should accustom the Walkers to it.
The Major talked about seeing hope in every single man there, determination. Ray exhaled in annoyance, not understanding how anyone genuinely believed a single word that came out of that man's mouth. Pete stood next to Ray, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He seemed to share Ray’s resentment for the Major.
“Now who’s set to fucking win?”
Walkers cheered all around Ray, some with genuine excitement, some cheering hesitantly, and some not cheering at all, like Ray and Stebbins. Ray figures they were both not cheering for different reasons, though.
“I said, who’s set to Fucking win!?” Repeated the major, followed by more cheers and the bang of a gun.
The Long Walk has started, and Ray can only hope he'll make it now.