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Stebbins raised a hand to cover his eyes, a glaring sun’s golden rays dancing along the gray pavement, and illuminating faces of boys who would get their ticket in days time. A light breeze flew past the crowd, ruffling loose blonde hair strands from under his beige cap.
Behind him, the boys who had asked for his name sat, laughing at some dumb joke. “Raring to rip- sounds, sounds like my meemaw on the toilet bowl in the morning, am I right, fellas?” Crickets. Well not literally- just, silence. Awkward silence. Not even a pity laugh.
“Fuck is a meemaw?” Someone commented. Olson if Stebbins heard him correctly.
“Fuck you, I was just joking around. . .” The original voice had trailed off. Footsteps approached, and Stebbins slightly turned his head to see a sulking blonde boy, his hair almost brown-ish near the top, and his head tilted low as to hide his eyes.
A blue jacket hung around his shoulders and under an olive messenger bag. Stebbins doubted you could pack much in it, but judging from the can in the boy’s hand, Stebbins guessed there were more in the bag.
He held the spoon tightly to eat, and his shoulders were raised high as he hunched over, like Stebbins would steal his food. Like a dog cherishing the first meal he’d had in a while.
This boy didn’t look like he’d last long on the walk. A shame to Stebbins. He’d like to dissect the boy further, or as much as he could before the boy bought his ticket. The Major gave his whole spiel. The strange boy had been named “Gary Barkovitch”, Number 5.
And when Stebbins was called up to receive a small: #38 tag, Barkovitch followed his figure with curious eyes, Stebbins could tell as he walked back to when he previously sat, and he met the eyes of Barkovitch, who immediately turned away, hiding behind his bangs.
And the walk began. Boys began shuffling, and Stebbins could hear Ray Garraty and Peter McVries conversing.
Well, Stebbins let himself slow down, testing the limits of the watch around his wrist. Immediately, his watch beeped and: “Warning, warning #38. First warning.” Stebbins gave a little wave to show he got the memo.
Barkovitch was slightly beside him, just a little ways ahead, and Stebbins saw him turn back just a little, before quickly turning around once more. Olson called him smart, and Stebbins just rolled his eyes.
And now Stebbins found himself unwrapping a jelly sandwich, chugging it down with water from his canteen around his waist. He hoped it wouldn’t rain just yet, the sandwiches were covered in paper, and the bread would soak.
But luckily, the sky was insanely clear (nothing like how it was back home). Rain clouds likely wouldn’t form for a few days, given Maine’s May weather. (April showers bring May flowers). Maybe Stebbins would see some colorful flowers. He’d like that.
Up ahead, Barkovitch had skipped along, suddenly stopping at the start of an upcoming bridge. He ducked down, and Stebbins guessed he was tying his shoes.
“I got a rock in my shoe!” Barkovitch yelled. Stebbins found him to be loud, definitely much louder than Ray and his new group. It was interesting. And as Stebbins passed him up, he found his heart to start picking up speed. And he let out a laugh.
“Warning, third warning #05.”
And- Barkovitch got up, skipping to catch up to the rest of the walkers. Yet though Stebbins thought Barkovitch would run to find Garraty, he stuck behind with Stebbins in the back, a large smile plastered on his face as if he hadn’t just faced death, carbine to his head.
Stebbins made no comment, and neither did Barkovitch- they just kept on walking content in silence. Once in a while, Barkovitch would slightly bump into Stebbins, walking crookedly down the road. Each nudge sent something through Stebbins- though what, he couldn’t name.
—--
Barkovitch hadn’t talked as much as Stebbins had hoped. He was quiet next to Stebbins, barely perking up unless there was someone about to get a ticket, in which he raised a camera to his eye to take a picture like a cruel art project. Did Barkovitch think he’d win, or were the pictures just to look back on, motivation to keep on walking until he eventually punched his own ticket?
And now it was night, and the air grew chilly. Stebbins buttoned up his beige overshirt, shoving his last few sandwiches in his large pockets. And when a bright yellow sign brought the promise of a hill, Stebbins couldn’t keep himself from calling out: “Half of you will die on this hill.” with a hidden smirk.
And with surprise from Stebbins, Barkovitch began running. “Who wants to fucking race me to the top?!” He called out, a smile written in his voice. And he was lost to the crowd from where Stebbins could see, and boys began to slow down as the pavement rose.
Warnings were called out left and right, and shots followed in mere seconds. Brains exploded and Stebbins found himself cringing internally, subconsciously shying away from falling bodies.
Garraty was warned three times. Stebbins remembered that clearly. He remembered passing up Garraty, his own feet beginning to tire at the endless movement. And McVries had just picked the other up, letting Garraty sleep on his shoulder. Stebbins ached for the same treatment, but he was supposed to be mechanical. There would be no use. Soon it was morning, and the hill was gone.
Stebbins was back to the present, and the night of no sleep had begun to catch up, his mind slowing. Barkovitch was back near the end of the group, and Stebbins was pleased to see he hadn’t died. Since that moment at the bridge, Barkovitch hadn’t gotten a single warning. He was too fast. It impressed Stebbins.
Rank, Number 19, had died last night. Stebbins heard Garraty and McVries talking about it. It hadn’t traumatized Garraty as much as Curly though, as Stebbins could pick up from the tone of voice used. Harkness himself had slowed down at about Mile 67, and Stebbins didn’t turn around to watch him die when he walked past the writer. It would waste his energy.
At some point, Barkovitch had skipped ahead to catch up to Collie Parker, who walked a little farther away from the ‘Musketeers’ (Garraty’s group, as they called them). It seemed as though Barkovitch had just gone to annoy Parker, and the taller swatted him away, not in the mood for games.
One boy started to run away from the walk, presumably to take shelter in some building. Word came back it was Percy from what Stebbins could hear, and he only let out a sigh, unwrapping another jelly sandwich from his pocket. 2 more, and he’d be out. One part of his brain wanted to save them, and the other rationalized these could be the last things he ate if he stumbled one too many times.
But he wouldn’t stumble, Stebbins shook his head. He was a robot, and unless there were flaws in his machinery and cogs, there’d be no way he’d lose. He didn’t have a bleeding heart like the boys ahead. There was nothing that’d hold him back.
A sudden sneeze ripped through his body, and his lungs were set aflame. Stebbins sniffled, carefully wiping under his nose with the green jacket he’d shrugged on a few hours ago. Allergies. That was it. With all the flowers, pine and fir- that was a plausible explanation.
Stebbins didn’t remember saying much, but he could recall getting asked: “Getting sick, Stebbins?” by Ray Garraty.
“Wouldn’t you like that, Garraty? They’re just allergies, I get ‘em every spring.” Stebbins answered. He couldn’t let the greyhounds see his gears begin to rust. It would cause them to lose their spark in chasing him.
It was at that moment, a shoulder brushed him. Out of his peripheral vision, Stebbins caught a glimpse of Barkovitch’s now tangled hair. The two had fallen back from the other 20 or so boys.
“You look terrible.” Stebbins commented, trying to rile him up.
“You don’t look so hot either, dumbo.” Barkovitch muttered, and it seemed like he’d leave Stebbins alone, until he said: “You can sleep. I got you.”
It was a strange gesture, especially for someone Stebbins barely even knew, other than his name. What if Barkovitch had wanted to push him over, to throw the rabbit off track so his jaws could sink into his mechanical flesh throat?
“I won’t do shit to you- just- we’re both alone, so you know, I thought- you’d- never mind.” Barkovitch had begun to radiate nervous energy, and it sickened Stebbins from where he walked.
“I’ll sleep.” He simply answered.
Barkovitch met his eyes, with a light Stebbin’s wasn’t sure he’d quite seen before.
“You can trust me, captain.” Barkovitch gave him a crooked smile, raising a hand to his forehead like a mock salute.
And Stebbins let his eyes close, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.
—-
Barkovitch had taken his turn to sleep, once in a while brushing shoulders with Stebbins, like rabbits dogs do to show affection. Since then, the kid with the radio (Garraty had said his name was Tressler) and the kid with the magazine had bought their ticket. And more followed.
That night, Olson had tried to revolt. The boys had begged why they prolonged Olson’s death, and Stebbins could give only one explanation: the soldiers didn’t want the boys to try what Olson had attempted. And that, that was a revolution.
So on the morning of Day 4, the rest of the boys had huddled together near Collie Parker. Barkovitch stayed by Stebbins’ side, slightly flinching every time Stebbins let out a particularly loud cough.
Stebbins was wrong. These weren’t everyday allergies. It was some damned sickness, gripping its claws into his sides for this exact stretch of days like a cruel fucking joke. ‘Irony’, as McVries had called it.
Garraty, Baker, McVries and Parker made no attempts to talk to Stebbins or Barkovitch, and the two trailed by themselves, rarely talking until this morning. Barkovitch had become extremely loud like he’d been on Day 1, blabbering about who knows what to Stebbins, waving his spoon wildly around. Something about people hating him, something about his small hometown, his cat (which he carried a picture of tied to his wrist), his grandma, and some occasional nonsense.
Stebbins had one jelly sandwich left, and when he offered the second half to Barkovitch, the fellow rabbit (as Stebbins concluded) had taken it with wide, giddy eyes. Stebbins assumed he was Barkovitch’s first friend.
The sky was gray, and Stebbins thought it would rain soon, as it did the night before. He wondered if Barkovitch would be swept away. The walker hadn’t touched any of his concentrates since the night of Day 2.
When gunshots rang out, Stebbins came back to his senses. Barkovitch was pulling him along, and his lungs began heaving, feeling heavy with fluid. Parker had shot soldiers down, McVries and Garraty themselves had grabbed carbines to help in distracting the soldiers. Baker stumbled along behind them, holding a sleeve up to an extremely bloody nose.
Once the group stopped, Stebbins remembered hunching over, whatever sandwich he’d ingested coming back up his throat in an itching fire. Barkovitch had rubbed his back, and once he’d taken away his hand, Stebbins ached once more for the contact.
It was nice for a while, as the group destroyed their watches and left scattered clothes to throw off anyone trying to find them. It had hurt Stebbins to part with his green jacket with how cold his body felt, but it needed to be done.
Barkovitch had seemed to relax, his shoulders low as he reached out to nudge Stebbins’ hand, slightly curling his fingers over Stebbins’ raw knuckles. McVries and Garraty were alert ahead, while Parker and Baker caught their breaths. This, Stebbins believed, was where the walkers had made their biggest mistake.
The walkers had been free for approximately three hours.
No one expected bullets to pierce Garraty first, and McVries next. No one expected the guttural screams from Parker as his arm was torn open, and Baker had collapsed soon after him (from what Stebbins thought was heat stroke).
Barkovitch had begun running, dragging Stebbins close behind, nimble legs jumping swiftly over scattered twigs.
Stupid, Stebbins thought. We’ll always be caught. They cut off our lucky foot.
They lasted 2 minutes.
Barkovitch had gone first.
Stebbins could only think once more back to the events that had unfurled. He could’ve stopped it if he had just reported the citizen he’d seen hiding in the woods they’d entered, who’d been actively dialing military as they all ran.
Stebbins-