Chapter Text
The sky was pale blue and calm, which was the complete opposite to what Curley was feeling.
He hugged the backpack tightly to his chest, wishing that he could just stay in the car. He hoped that with every passing moment, that there was a chance he could quit. Leave, before he was forced into participating.
“Sweetie, is everything okay?” His mother asked, glancing over at him as the car took a turn. She must have noticed how quiet he was. Usually, he was full of energy. Like a normal, everyday 15 year old.
Curley nodded, tucking his face in the back of his backpack. “Yes…” he mumbled. His mother didn't ask anymore questions.
A few seconds later, they pulled up to the place. Curley glanced at the floor, his mouth felt dry. He slowly opened the door, shutting it gently. His mother rolled down the window.
“Have a good time with your friends. I will see you later.” His mother smiled, but it held a hint of exhaustion.
Oh, right. The excuse he made for why he needed to stop here. If only that was true. He would much rather be with his friends, be safe, then do this. But it was too late. He couldn't run away. And his mother looks so thin lately…maybe it would do her some good to spend her energy on herself then waste it all on him.
Curley clutches his backpack close to his chest. “Thanks Mom, I will.” He attempted a smile. He watches as his mother drives away. He turned around, and began walking.
Lying about his age was surprisingly easy. Of course, he had help from one of his friends who was smart for his age. Would his friends be watching? Would his mom watch? Would they realize what he had signed up for?
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw two men in front. They were wearing identical clothing. He stopped walking, nervously fidgeting with the straps. He let one of them grab it, searching for anything suspicious, before giving it back to him.
He averted his gaze as he continued walking. He saw groups of people, all gathered up. Most were big and muscular. Some, while shorter, were lean. The obvious fact is that they were all older than him.
Curley took a shaky breath. He forced himself not to tremble. He still has a chance, right? His gaze landed on a boy, who was standing by a tree. He was one of the few who wasn't sitting. He was folding a piece of paper, his attention sorely focused on the object, his posture stiff. The sunlight made him look elegant, bringing out his youthful features. He looks…young. Not as young as Curley, but judging by all the others, this boy folding the piece of paper was probably the second youngest among them. That information didn't help him feel better.
Curley dropped his bag, but didn't sit down. Instead, he felt himself walking. Up and down, he wrapped his arms around himself. It didn't feel as warm as his mother hugs, but he had hoped it would have comforted him more. He almost didn't notice a group that was near him until one of them spoke.
“Hey, hey, are you alright?”
Curley paused. He turned to face them, trying his best to appear composed. Surprised, he pointed to himself. “Me?” He wasn't expecting people to be talking to him already.
The man wearing the hat held a confused and slightly worried expression. “Yeah. You're pacing. Are you okay?” He asked.
“I’m just getting warmed up.” He placed his hands on his hips, turning his head towards the side. He didn't really know what people do before a walk, but he was just hoping to calm his nerves before it.
The man with the scar on his face spoke up this time. “You have a few hundred miles to get warmed up when we start. What’s your name?” He seemed genuinely curious.
He shifted slightly. “Curley.” He responded.
“Okay, Curley. How old are you?” And there it was. The question the boy was dreading.
Curley paused, at a loss for words. Was it that obvious? By the looks on their faces, he knew he was taking too long to answer. Too long to give out a convincing answer that was definitely not the truth. But he could still try, right? He spoke up anyway. “18.”
“Yeah. That kid lied to qualify.” Curley tried to ignore the urge to protest at being called a kid.
“Kid, if you're a day over 16, I eat my fucking shoes.” A new voice piped up. It was a man who was shorter than most in the group, chewing on a clementine.
“Look at him. Poor fucker doesn't know what the fuck he’s doing here.”
Curley's face falters. He…wasn't a kid. But hearing this group's opinion, he walked over to where his backpack was and grabbed it. He walked off, hoping to find a different spot away from people questioning his age or calling him a kid.
He walked over to the line where rocks met grass, gently setting his backpack down. He glanced around. That boy with the paper was still doing the activity. Does he never get bored of it? Curley knew that if he tried to do anything like that, he would get really tired of it quickly. In a split second, the boy with the paper looks up, as if sensing that somebody was looking at him. Their eyes met, and Curley looked away. The boy's face was blank, and after a few more minutes, looked back down as if nothing had happened.
The noise of tires on dirt caught his attention. He looks up. It was the Major, his eyes hidden beneath sunglasses. Curley took a small step back, his arms tightening around himself.
He didn't glance up as the major spoke. “Sit down, boys.”
At the command, others begin sitting. Curley followed soon after.
The Major cleared his throat. “As I called your name, step forward and take your tags. Put ‘em around your neck and then go back to your place until I instruct otherwise.” He ordered. He looked down at the notebook, and began calling out names.
Curley curled his legs up to his chest as names were getting called out.
“Barkovitch, Gary. Number 5.”
Curley watched as a man with longish blonde hair stood up to walk over to receive his tags.
“Barker, Arthur. Number 6.”
“White, “Curley” Adam. Number 7.”
Curley tried to look confident as he walked over, bowing his head slightly down to let the tag slip over his neck. He could feel others' stares, and it made his heart race. He quickly walked back to where he was before.
“Sanders, Rank. Number 19.”
Curley eyes follow the boy that was folding the piece of paper. He could see the others doing the same, just like they did for Curley. The boy's face remained blank as he politely lowered his head to allow the tags to hang from his neck. He then walked away.
“McVries, Peter. Number 23.”
The man with the scar on his face pushes himself up to go receive his tags.
“Stebbins, Billy. Number 38.”
Unexpectedly, the Major mumbled another sentence to him.
“Good luck, son.”
Curley didn't think much of it as the muscular man walked away.
“Olson, Hank. Number 46.”
“Garraty, Raymond. 47.”
The man with the hat stood up. He had a death glare, as he simply walked up, and grabbed the tags, yanking them towards himself as he walked away.
“Fellas, lined up by fives in no particular order.” The Major ordered.
As the men quickly did what they were told, Curley followed as well, getting into line. He glanced down, lightly kicking his feet in the dirt.
“Boys. It takes a heavy, heavy sac to sign up for this contest and you’ve all got it. You're all men now.”
There was a light muttering at that. Curley glanced up, catching a sight of the boy with the paper. He averted his gaze, instead watching the mayor.
Rank Sanders kept his eyes straight, never once stopping his movement of the paper, as if it was a habit. And maybe it was, for him. His fingers were constantly fidgeting, carefully molding the green paper into a crane shape.
The soldiers went around, giving the men's watches, rations belts, and other things.
Curley adjusted the belt, keeping his head up.
“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!”
“Yeah!” The men cheered at the Major's speech.
Curley listens quietly to the rules. It was the same as always.
Walk until only one is left.
Keep a speed of 3 miles per hour.
Fall behind, get a warning. If you can't keep up in 10 Seconds, another warning. Third in total, and you get your ticket.
It sounds innocent enough, but they all knew better.
“Any one can win. Any of you can do it if you walk long and steady enough.”
Rank glanced down at his origami. It was a bit rushed then all his usual projects, but this was a special occasion. The object felt comforting in his hands, as if he could simply ignore what the mayor was saying.
“If you refuse to give up. I look at each and every one of you, and I see hope. Now, boys, who’s set to fucking win?”
Bang!
Rank flinched at the loud noise, his expression furrowed in slight displeasure. To him, that felt slightly unnecessary. But letting it go, he gently set the crane down on the ground, before walking. He fell into line with the others as they set off, the vehicles and soldiers following close behind.
“Luck to all, and remember, anyone can win.”
The long walk had officially started.
Nobody had seen how the gentle rush of wind pushed the crane onto its side.