Work Text:
Collie first noticed the man while waiting for The Walk to start. It was when he first noticed most of the boys.
He heard him say it, “just wanna walk and maybe make some friends.” And while Collie knew that it was naïve, everyone knew that, he couldn’t help but feel the same. He also wanted to make friends. He knew that it wasn’t any smart, but he didn’t think he’d be able to make it without someone there.
He didn’t walk up to the group of boys. He didn’t sit down and try to talk. He just turned away, trying to tune out the conversations happening around him.
They got their dog tags, he was #48. The man he’d been listening to was #6, his name was Arthur Baker. The boys who sat with him were Gary Barkovitch, #5, Peter McVries, #23, Billy Stebbins, #38, Hank Olson, #46, and Raymond Garraty, #47. Collie still didn’t approach them, but he kept close enough to listen in on their conversations when The Walk started.
-
200 million people, 50 whole states, and yet Collie Parker was the one stuck in Maine. He, and 49 other boys, if you include the unlucky bastard that’s lived there his whole life.
Collie cracked his knuckles and then stuffed his hands back into his pockets. No one had died yet, and only a few boys had a warning. One guy, Barkovitch, had managed to get three warnings while picking a rock out of his shoe. How could someone possibly be so stupid? Nothing else he’d said so far was rather smart either, but three warnings so early on? One step too slow, and then you’re dead.
Baker was walking a few metres behind the other boys, completely alone. Well, if anyone could be ‘alone’ while on a death march with 49 other boys. Collie took the chance he increased his pace, slipping up beside Baker.
Baker turned his head slightly to look at him. “#48.. Collie Parker right?” He asked.
“That’s right. You’re Baker?”
“Most certainly, though you can call me Art,” Bake- Art, said.
Collie thought about what he’d heard the boys talk about, trying to find a topic. “You religious?” He already knew the answer, but maybe he could get a little more out of the man.
“Yep,” Art grabbed what Collie had previously thought was just another necklace, untucking it from below his shirt and showing the cross that hung there, as if Collie needed proof. He tucked it away before starting to talk again. “What about you? Are you a religious fella?”
Collie shrugged. “Wouldn’t call myself christian," was all he responded with. Trying to explain everything would take too long, and Art would probably be freaked out enough that he'd end the attempts at friendship.
Art nodded. “Ain’t no shame in that. Not everyone believes in the big man upstairs- and hey, I ain’t perfect either. I smoke and all.” He flashed Collie a cheeky grin, and Collie gave one back.
“A smoker and religious? Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”
“Hey, hey,” Art started, “I look at it this way; if God didn’t want us to use tobacco, why’d he put it on earth?”
“He also put stones heavy enough and sticks sharp enough to kill another man, do you justify that?” Collie argued. He really didn’t have a problem with what Art was saying, but the game of cat and mouse was fun.
“My smoking don’t hurt anyone, does it? And those sticks and stones can be used for killing animals too, maybe humans just didn’t understand God when he gave us those weapons – we just didn’t understand what they should be used for,” Art rambled on. “Tobacco though, that can’t be misinterpreted.”
“Sure,” Collie mused.
-
It was Art’s turn to approach Collie. He slowed his steps, slow enough to fall behind and walk next to Collie, but still fast enough that he didn’t get a warning.
“Did you hear about that guy that wished for a pet elephant?” Art blurted out.
Collie sputtered, he had been in his own world, not expecting Art. “Don’t think so,” he said.
“You know, they asked him what he wanted for his wish, and he said, he said he wanted an elephant. They got him one! They got him a tame elephant, and he rode off on it, just like that!”
“Huh.” Collie had heard his fair share of stories about the winners of The Long Walk. He’d yet to hear one about a boy getting an elephant, but anything was possible if you won. “Did that inspire you? Are you thinking about wishing for an elephant?”
“I was thinking about it, but I’ve got an even better wish. I’m going to the moon. I’m gonna wish for a space rocket, and a ride to the moon,” Art told him. “What about you? What’s your wish?”
Collie looked out on the road, on the many other boys walking there. He didn’t know what he’d wish for. There was something in him, something in him that wanted to change the trajectory of The Walk. He wanted to save the people who walked with him, and he knew for certain that a wish wouldn’t be a part of the fantasy.
“Something,” he started, “something for my family. I’m gonna make sure they get a good life. My younger siblings are gonna have a damned good education, go to college and everything. I might not know all the ins and outs of my wish, but I know for sure that my family’s gonna have it good.”
“That’s sweet, man.” Art gave him something between a light shove and a pat on the shoulder. “You got a good fucking heart, Collie.” It was the first time someone used his first name — and only his first name — in the past few days.
“You’re not half bad yourself, you know?”
Art grinned. “Yeah, sure, I know,” he responded. “I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?”
“Yeah, we do.”
They walked quietly for a few moments, until Collie heard something that very quickly caught his attention. It was quiet, he barely registered it at first, having been more focused on Art, but it was impossible to mistake.
“Man, fuck The Long Walk.”
Someone started it, and then someone else said it too. “Fuck The Long Walk!” Collie shouted, and to his surprise, Art joined in. The guy was against saying the word shit, and still said fuck The Long Walk.
People started to chant the words. Collie felt happy. It wasn’t an emotion he’d previously associated with The Walk. But seeing people like this, even ones he’d thought to be like any other bootlicker, seeing them speak up? It sparked something in him. It sparked hope. Hope that someone else might think the same things he did.
-
A boy's legs were run over. The tank ran over him and oh my god- he was screaming, his legs were run over and they were still giving him warnings.
Collie was fucking terrified. He continued waking, tried to block out the sound of the boy screaming and god they were still giving him warnings. They could just shoot him, could just end his suffering, but not, they were still giving him warnings. Collie wanted to lash out and scream and cry and be angry, but he couldn’t. He didn’t, and no one else did.
His steps sped up, and he didn’t even notice it until he was walking next to Art, who grabbed him by the arm.
“Hey, hey, Collie!” Art exclaimed. “Where you going man? You gotta calm down, yeah?”
Collie stared at him for a few moments, he was about to stop completely, but Art got him to walk at the right pace. “Yeah, yeah,” he breathed out.
The boy whose legs were run over got his last warning, and was then shot. The impulsive thought of looking back at the boy hit Collie, but Art stopped him. He held the back of his head and his jaw, guiding his head so he didn’t look back. “Don’t gotta look back, okay? Just look at me, you hear me Collie?”
Collie nodded. After the initial shock was over, he delved into anger. “They just continued. They continued giving him the fucking warnings! His legs were run over- he was screaming, they could’ve just ended it!”
“I know, Collie.”
“They- the fucking bastards. They don’t even do it because they’re paid for it! They thrive on it, they live on it. They love watching us suffer, those fucking bastards- they’re worse than Barkovitch- they’re- they’re-“
“Yeah, yeah, I know, Collie.” Art patted Collies back, offering him comfort. “I know, I know, it’s gonna be okay. Yeah, you’re gonna be okay, you know that? Say it man, say you’re gonna be okay.”
Collie nodded, almost rhythmically. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be okay. Shit, we’ll be okay, Art. You gotta promise me that — promise me you’ll hold on as long as I do? You’ll- fuck, you’ll be okay?” The last words were meant to be some fucked up sort of reassurance, but all that Collie heard come out of his own mouth was a plead.
“I promise.”
-
More kids died, they just continued dying. Collie hated how he’d grown to be numb to it. He hated that he didn’t even jump when he heard the bullets fly. He hated himself. He wanted to stop this, he wanted to fix this, and if he couldn’t do that then-
“I want the Mayor to come,” someone next to him said. Collie’s head snapped to his left to see Art walking next to him. He didn’t know if they’d been walking together for a few seconds, a few minutes, or multiple hours.
“Why?” Collie asked. “Wanna beg him to stop this?”
Art shook his head and let out a humourless laugh. “No, no, I don’t want to beg,” he started, “I don’t want to praise him either. When this first started, I thought it’d be nice to have tea with him. I think I’d kill him if he stepped foot inside my house right now.” Collie’s eyes widened. Sure, he thought the same, but Art was different from the rest of them. “No, I want the Mayor to come here, I want the Mayor to come here so I can piss on him.”
“You certainly had a change in attitude,” Collie mused. What was he supposed to say to Art? Wanna piss on the Mayor together?
“Yeah, yeah I guess I did. I saw that kid get run over, and then Tressler and- gosh, I’m terriffied, Collie. I hate this. I can’t stand just watching people die.”
Collie gave him a soft pat on the shoulder. “Neither can I, Art, neither can I..” he mumbled. If only Art knew what he was thinking. If only he understood that Collie hated The Walk just as much as he did, if not more. If only he understood what Collie wanted to do.
They slipped into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Collie’s hand stayed on Art’s shoulder. He wanted to comfort Art. He wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and tell him that everything would be okay. He wanted to tell Art everything, how he wished to make a change, how he believed that it was possible.
Still, he couldn’t get the words out. He didn’t know if it was the earlier talk about how everything they said could be heard, or if he was scared that Art would reject the idea. “I wasn’t being serious, man, “you’re going too far.” He’d heard the exact same words before. His friends would say them to him, when they were 15 years old and had spent hours talking about everything they hated. Their parents, the police, the government. He didn’t want Art to say those words. Sometimes, not knowing the answer was better than rejection.
-
Collie felt like he was going crazy. They all felt like they were going crazy. He still had some sense in him, he could still laugh at the jokes McVries cracked and could still enjoy the little rations they were given. Hank, the zombie walking a few metres in front of him, didn't have that same luck.
Hank’s feet hit the ground, he continued to stumble forward. He was close. He’d been ‘close’ for hours now. Close to death, close to finally getting the ticket, to getting released. But he didn’t die. He didn’t slow down, his short legs didn’t stop carrying him. Hank’s legs had to move faster than the others’. He was at least lucky in some ways, Collie thought, he wasn’t Hank, that had to be some sort of fucked up luck.
After calling his name out a few times, Ray walked up next to Hank. Collie listened in on their conversation. It was eavesdropping like nothing else, but that wasn’t really frowned upon on The Walk. No one cared if you heard — at least one of you would be dead by the end anyway.
“God's garden..” Hank mumbled, “God’s garden is full of weeds.” Hank didn’t stop walking, of course he didn’t, he never would. Instead, he turned around, and started stumbling in the wrong direction. He got a warning, the other boys started to shout at him, but he continued. Collie shouted at him, he shouted for him, but Hank just continued.
He did something, another one of those things that gave Collie a desperate pang of hope. Hank tried to do what Collie had wanted to. He tried to grab a rifle, he tried to fight. He wasn’t quick enough. He wasn’t shot in the head, he wasn’t killed, no, they shot him in the stomach. Oh god his intestines were falling out. He was holding on to them, he was holding onto his intestines so that they wouldn’t fall out. Collie felt like he was going to throw up.
Hank got shot a second time, this time in his legs, and Art started to run.
Warning, warning #6!
It felt so surreal. Stebbins, Stebbins started to talk. He said something about letting Hank bleed out and then Ray was running. Were Hank, Art, and Ray all going to die? Were they all going to get their ticket in the next few minutes? The thought rooted itself in Collie, he felt terrified of it. He didn’t know if they counted him as a friend, he wasn’t exactly a part of the musketeers, but he sure as hell counted them as his friends. Who’d be left? McVries? There wasn’t much more, Stebbins wasn’t any good company, nor was Barkovitch. Stebbins and his talk about carrots and donkeys and shooting Hank in the stomach and letting him bleed out — if Collie was left alone with him they’d both get their tickets within seconds.
Hank was screaming. He was screaming for Art, who was being pulled away by Ray. He was screaming “I did it all wrong!”
There was no gunshot. No one put Hank out of his misery. He was simply left to bleed out, and even as he stopped screaming, Collie knew that his body was still alive, and it would continue being alive and being in pain for many more minutes.
Ray and McVries comforted Art. Collie was happy they did, he didn’t know if he himself was stable enough to comfort the friend.
-
They all agreed to do something for Hank’s wife. Collie hated the thought of Hank having a wife, hated him for competing in The Walk while having a wife. He knew she was miserable, and so what could he do other than help her?
Collie looked over at Barkovitch and Ray, who were talking among themselves. He didn’t understand how Ray could stand Barkovitch, and why they were talking now of all times.
Collie shook it off and continued to stare forward. Maybe he’d walk up to Art, talk to him about something, maybe about Clementine if he’d be alright with it-
His thoughts were interrupted by Barkovitch, once again.
“I’m going to be with you whores forever now,” Barkovitch said, and before Collie knew it, Barkovitch’ spoon was mincing his own throat. Collie felt like he was going to throw up again. This time it wasn’t because he didn’t want to see Barkovitch go, but because it was so gory.
Collie’s thoughts drifted back to Art when he saw that the other man was clearly affected. He picked up his pace again and slipped up next to Baker.
“You okay?” Collie asked, the softness in his voice surprising even himself.
“I don’t know, Collie. They just keep on dying, I can’t handle it,” Art rambled. “Sure, Barkovitch wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but God..”
Collie patted Art on the shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Art. It’s going to be okay, you know why?” Art shook his head. “Because we're going to walk together, alright? Walk with me, don’t think about Barkovitch, don’t think about Olson. It’s going to be alright.” Collie was trying to reassure the both of them. He himself tried not to think too much about everything happening around them, it only made things worse.
-
“In a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a mine, dwelt a miner, forty-niner, and his daughter Clementine,” Collie started. Something compelled him to sing, and what other song than that one? Hank’s wife, her name was Clementine. And only God knows why, but Collie’s mind went to the song, instead of the fruit.
The other boys joined in. It wasn’t surprising anymore. ‘Fuck the Mayor’, ‘I want to piss on the Mayor’, Hank’s attempt. It made sense, deep down they all felt the same as Collie did, someone just needed to take that first step.
Collie’s arm wrapped around Art’s shoulders. They danced together, as much as you could dance while still keeping up a pace of 3 miles per hour.
Collie would take that first step for them. He knew they’d help him if he tried to do the same as Hank. It would be different this time, he’d have a plan, he wouldn’t be as exhausted as Hank. They’d do the same. They’d help him, they had to. Otherwise, all that talk would’ve been for nothing. That didn’t make sense, no, they would help him. They would do something, they’d at least try, right?
Right?
Right?