"You don't look so good," Garraty said.
Barkovitch smiled cunningly. "It's all a part of the Plan. You remember when I told you about the Plan? Didn't believe me. Olson didn't. Davidson neither. Gribble neither." Barkovitch's voice dropped to a succulent whisper, pregnant with spit. "Garraty, I daaanced on their graves!"
"Your leg hurt?" Garraty asked softly. "Say, isn't that awful."
"Ju'st thirty-five left to walk down. They're all going to fall apart tonight. You'll see. There won't be a dozen left on the road when the sun comes up. You'll see. You and your diddy-bop friends, Garraty. All dead by morning. Dead by midnight."
Garraty felt suddenly very strong. He knew that Barkovitch would go soon now. He wanted to break into a run, bruised kidneys and aching spine and screaming feet and all, run and tell McVries he was going to be able to keep his promise.
"What will you ask for?" Garraty said aloud. "When you win?"
Barkovitch grinned gleefully as if he had been waiting for the question. In the uncertain light his face seemed to crumple and squeeze as if pushed and pummeled by giant hands. "Plastic feet," he whispered. "Plaaastic feet, Garraty. I'm just gonna have these ones cut off, f**k 'em if they can't take a joke. I'll have new plastic feet put on and put these ones in a laundromat washing machine and watch them go around and around and around-"
"I thought maybe you'd wish for friends," Garraty said sadly. A heady sense of triumph, suffocating and enthralling, roared through him.
"Friends?"
"Because you don't have any," Garraty said pityingly. "We'll all be glad to see you die. No one's going to miss you, Gary. Maybe I'll walk behind you and spit on your brains after they blow them all over the road. Maybe I'll do that. Maybe we all will." It was crazy, crazy, as if his whole head was flying off, it was like when he had swung the barrel of the air rifle at Jimmy, the blood... Jimmy his whole head had gone heat-hazy with the savage, primitive justice of it.
"Don't hate me," Barkovitch was whining, "why do you want to hate me? I don't want to die any more than you do. What do you want? Do you want me to be sorry? I'll be sorry! I... I..."
"We'll all spit in your brains," Garraty said crazily. "Do you want to touch me too?"
Barkovitch looked at him palely, his eyes confused and vacant.
"I... I'm sorry," Garraty whispered. He felt degraded and dirty. He hurried away from Barkovitch. Damn you McVries, he thought, why? Why?
All at once the guns roared, and there were two of them falling down dead at once and one of them had to be Barkovitch, had to be. And this time it was his fault, he was the murderer.
Then Barkovitch was laughing. Barkovitch was cackling, higher and madder and even more audible than the madness of the crowd. "Garraty! Gaaam'atee! I'll dance on your grave, Garraty! I'll daaaance-"
"Shut up!" Abraham yelled. "Shut up, you little prick!"
Barkovitch stopped, then began to sob.
"Go to hell," Abraham muttered.
"Now you did it," Collie Parker said reproachfully. "You made him cry, Abe, you bad boy. He's gonna go home and tell his mommy."
Barkovitch continued to sob. It was an empty, ashy sound that made Garraty's skin crawl. There was no hope in it.
"Is little uggy-wuggy gonna tell Mommy?" Quince called back. "Ahhhh, Barkovitch, ain't that too bad?"
Leave him alone, Garraty screamed out in his mind, leave him alone, you have no idea how bad he's hurting. But what kind of lousy hypocritical thought was that? He wanted Barkovitch to die. Might as well admit it. He wanted Barkovitch to crack up and croak off.
And Stebbins was probably back there in the dark laughing at them all.
He hurried, caught up with McVries, who was ambling along and staring idly at the crowd. The crowd was staring back at him avidly.
"Why don't you help me decide?" McVries said.
"Sure. What's the topic for decision'?"
"Who's in the cage. Us or them."
Garraty laughed with genuine pleasure. "All of us. And the cage is in the Major's monkey house."
McVries didn't join in Garraty's laughter. "Barkovitch is going over the high side, isn't he?"
"Yes, I think so."
"I don't want to see it anymore. It's lousy. And it's a cheat. You build it all around something... set yourself on something... and then you don't want it. Isn't it too bad the great truths are all such lies?"
"I never thought much about it. Do you realize it's almost ten o'clock?"
"It's like practicing pole-vaulting all your life and then getting to the Olympics and saying, 'What the hell do I want to jump over that stupid bar for?'"
"Yeah."
"You almost could care, right?" McVries said, nettled.
"It's getting harder to work me up," Garraty admitted. He paused. Something had been troubling him badly for some time now. Baker had joined them. Garraty looked from Baker to McVries and then back again. "Did you see Olson's... did you see his hair? Before he bought it?"
"What about his hair?" Baker asked.