Garraty stared at and through a man in a hound's tooth jacket who was deliriously waving a straw hat with a stringy brim.
"Scramm, what happens if you buy it?" he asked cautiously.
Scramm smiled gently. "Not me. I feel like I could walk forever. Say, I wanted to be in the Long Walk ever since I was old enough to want anything. I walked eighty miles just two weeks ago, no sweat."
"But suppose something should happen-"
But Scramm only chuckled.
"How olds Cathy?"
"About a year older than me. Almost eighteen. Her folks are with her now, there in Phoenix."
It sounded to Garraty as if Cathy Scramm's folks knew something Scramm himself did not.
"You must love her a lot," he said, a little wistfully.
Scramm smiled, showing the stubborn last survivors of his teeth. "I ain't looked at anyone else since I married her. Cathy's a peach."
"And you're doing this."
Scramm laughed. "Ain't it fun?"
"Not for Harkness," Garraty said sourly. "Go ask him if he thinks it's fun."
"You don't have any grasp of the consequences," Pearson said, falling in between Garraty and Scramm. "You could lose. You have to admit you could lose."
"Vegas odds made me the favorite just before the Walk started," Scramm said. "Odds-on."
"Sure," Pearson said glumly. "And you're in shape, too, anyone can see that." Pearson himself looked pale and peaked after the long night on the mad. He glanced disinterestedly at the crowd gathered in a supermarket parking lot they were just passing. "Everyone who wasn't in shape is dead now, or almost dead. But there's still seventy-two of us left."
"Yeah, but..." A thinking frown spread over the broad circle of Scramm's face. Garraty could almost hear the machinery up there working: slow, ponderous, but in the end as sure as death and as inescapable as taxes. It was somehow awesome.
"I don't want to make you guys mad," Scramm said. "You're good guys. But you didn't get into this thinking of winning out and getting the Prize. Most of these guys don't know why they got into it. Look at that Barkovitch. He ain't in it to get no Prize. He's just walkin' to see other people die. He lives on it. When someone gets a ticket, he gets a little more go-power. It ain't enough. He'll dry up just like a leaf on a tree."
"And me?" Garraty asked.
Scramm looked troubled. "Aw, hell..."
"No, go on."
"Well, the way I see it, you don't know why you're walking, either. It's the same thing. You're going now because you're afraid, but... that's not enough. That wears out." Scramm looked down at the road and rubbed his hands together. "And when it wears out, I guess you'll buy a ticket like all the rest, Ray."
Garraty thought about McVries saying, When I get tired... really tired... why, l guess I will sit down.
"You'll have to walk a long time to walk me down," Garraty said, but Scramm's simple assessment of the situation had scared him badly.
"I," Scramm said, "am ready to walk a long time."
Their feet rose and fell on the asphalt, carrying them forward, around a curve, down into a dip and then over a railroad track that was metal grooves in the mad. They passed a closed fried clam shack. Then they were out in the country again.
"I understand what it is to die, I think," Pearson said abruptly. "Now I do, anyway. Not death itself, I still can't comprehend that. But dying. If I stop walking, I'll come to an end." He swallowed, and there was a click in his throat. "Just like a record after the last groove." He looked at Scramm earnestly. "Maybe it's like you say. Maybe it's not enough. But... I don't want to die."
Scramm looked at him almost scornfully. "You think just knowing about death will keep you from dying?"
Pearson smiled a funny, sick little smile, like a businessman on a heaving boat trying to keep his dinner down. "Right now that's about all that's keeping me going." And Garraty felt a huge gratefulness, because his defenses had not been reduced to that. At least, not yet.
Up ahead, quite suddenly and as if to illustrate the subject they had been discussing, a boy in a black turtleneck sweater suddenly had a convulsion. He fell on the mad and began to snap and sunfish and jackknife viciously. His limbs jerked and flopped. There was a funny gargling noise in his throat, aaa-aaa-aaa, a sheeplike sound that was entirely mindless. As Garraty hurried past, one of the fluttering hands bounced against his shoe and he felt a wave of frantic revulsion. The boy's eyes were rolled up to the whites. There were splotches of foam splattered on his lips and chin. He was being second-warned, but of course he was beyond hearing, and when his two minutes were up they shot him like a dog.
Not long after that they reached the top of a gentle grade and stared down into the green, unpopulated country ahead. Garraty was grateful for the cool morning breeze that slipped over his fast-perspiring body.