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Summary
The moments after the Walk had officially ended, when Ray had fallen to his knees after hauling Pete up and urging him forward, when the Major had stood beside Ray with his pistol pointed at the back of his head, two other soldiers with carbines pointed at Ray’s gut, his brain had stopped working. He had heard Ray receive his final warning, the numbers as much a physical wound as his ruined body, and had screamed, “Wait!”
The Major had looked at him, cocked his head in curiosity, his expression unreadable behind his aviators. Ray, sprawled like a broken thing across the wet asphalt, forced his head up to peer blearily at Pete from beneath his hair, but Pete had continued, unperturbed. “I want my Wish! I’ve won, he’s got his ticket, and I want my fucking Wish!”