Chapter Text
Now
May 1st 1979
“Name?”
“Richard Harkness. Journalist.”
The soldier in the booth nodded and grabbed Richard’s offered papers.
Richard drummed his fingers nervously on his steering wheel, this had to be the stupidest decision he had ever made. How he had let himself be convinced to do this a second time, he would never understand.
That was a lie, he knew how. He was still a fucking idiot.
The soldier handed back his ID and press pass. “You’re clear to go. Park by the gate and someone will meet you.”
Richard nodded in what he hoped was a normal amount of nonchalance, and drove off toward the starting line.
Sure enough as he walked around the back of his car to grab his backpack out of the trunk a familiar presence appeared in his periphery.
“You’re late.”
Richard rolled his eyes and checked his watch.
“It’s two minutes past seven. I was on time to the kiosk. Early, even.” Richard finished double checking that his carefully packed bag was indeed carefully packed and shouldered it. He turned to face the soldier.
“It’s good to see you again, Sergeant.” Richard stuck out his hand for a handshake.
“Staff Sergeant.”
“Right. Sorry. Staff Sergeant.” Richard knew that, though he supposed he wasn’t technically supposed to know, so it was fine that he’d forgotten. “Congratulations on the promotion, Staff Sergeant Stebbins.”
Richard caught the barest hint of a smile on Billy’s lips, and he had to avert his eyes to keep from doing something stupid. Something more stupid than the colossally long list of stupid things he’d done in the last year.
“Well, Mr. Harkness,” Billy started. He reached out and shook Richard's hand finally, he grasped it a little too long. Richard found a bit of his nerves lessened at the brief bit of contact. “As luck would have it, I’ll be your liaison again this year.”
Richard stifled a flippant remark and instead said, “lucky me.”
Billy let his hand go and turned, knowing Richard would be right behind him.
Richard grabbed his press vest, closed the trunk of his car, and half jogged to catch up to Billy.
“We’re on halftrack five.” Billy knocked on the side of the vehicle almost fondly, a dull thud sounding out across the pavement. Richard saw a few of the nearby seated walkers flinch at the noise.
“Same as last year,” Richard observed.
Billy nodded. “Same as last year.”
“Staff Sergeant?” A voice called out from somewhere behind Billy.
“Be right back,” Billy said, and then he fucking winked at Richard.
Richard looked quickly around himself in a panic only to realize that they were at the edge of the crowded starting area and there was no one behind Richard to have seen what Billy just did.
He climbed into the halftrack and put his pack under the bench seat he knew he’d spend most of the next few days sitting on. The two cots that sat head to toe down the central length of the halftrack looked just as uncomfortable as he remembered them being.
When Billy returned there was another soldier just behind him.
“Welcome back Mr. Harkness,” the new soldier said.
“Happy to be back,” Richard said.
“Corporal Wittly was just confirming with me that you will have movement privileges this year,” Billy said. Richard hated how impersonal he sounded.
The corporal nodded and smiled at Richard. “Straight from the Major. You must have done something to impress him.”
Billy locked eyes with Richard for just a moment, before suddenly becoming very interested in dusting nothing off the front of his uniform.
“Must have,” Richard said with a forced smile.
“That’ll be all Corporal," Billy said, nodding at the Corporal who turned and left. And then they were alone again, or at least as alone as they could hope to be for the next few days.
“Ready?” Billy asked. With his back to the rest of the people in the vicinity his face could resemble something akin to the softer side of Billy that Richard had grown to know and love over the past year.
Richard looked out over the fifty gathered young men. They all had a buzzing energy about them. Anticipation. Fear. Perhaps excitement from a few of the more naïve among the group. Was he ready to watch some of them die? No. But hopefully it would be fewer than the previous year. And hopefully those who did get their tickets before Freeport would be the last ones to ever die on this death march.
Richard shook his head slightly and tried not to let his facial expression change too much. No one seemed to be paying too much attention to them, but he didn’t want to risk it.
Billy climbed into the back of the halftrack and knelt down next to him. Richard was standing next to the bench seat where he stored his pack. Billy probably looked to anyone who did look their way like he was double checking some of the other stored supplies, but in reality he wrapped his hand around the back of Richard’s calf.
Richard took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair before replacing it.
“It’s going to be okay.” Billy whispered just loud enough for Richard to hear.
“I know.” Richard thought that almost sounded believable.
Billy had the audacity to chuckle, then he gave Richard’s calf a squeeze, and exited the halftrack. He might have looked back at him or talked to Richard again, but right then the dull rumble of a vehicle washed over the gathered bodies.
The Major was approaching the starting line.
No turning back now.
Then
May 5th 1978
Sergeant Stebbins had Richard up against the back of the halftrack. There were fireworks overhead, and people cheering. Every few seconds there was a break in the cacophony and Richard could hear another loud sob echoing from where he knew a man lay dead, his friend sobbing into his chest.
“Get it together, Harkness,” the Sergeant hissed in his ear.
Richard didn’t even know how the Sergeant had known what he was moments away from doing. Until he had been grabbed by the collar and shoved behind the halftrack by Sergeant Stebbins, Richard was moments away from grabbing one of the soldier's guns and attempting to shoot the Major. He hadn’t really thought through the ramifications either.
Richard shook his head, and somehow Sergeant Stebbins understood that he wasn’t going to try anything and let go of his shirt, but he didn’t step back, keeping Richard crowded against the halftrack. There was something hard and metal poking awkwardly into his shoulder blade.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
Richard took a shaky breath and suddenly felt like he was going to die. His heart felt like it was beating so fast it would explode inside his chest. “Oh god.”
The Sergeant nodded, like he fucking knew what Richard was going through. “I know, try to take a deep breath.”
Richard did, and when he could barely gasp in the tiniest bit of air he tried to lean forward, possibly to sink to the ground; he wasn’t sure, but the Sergeant caught his shoulders and stopped him.
“Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” He disappeared around the side of the halftrack that had been Richard’s home for the past five days.
Richard did drop to his knees then. His palms hit the pavement and he dry heaved a few times before finally drawing in a deep gulp of air. He sat there on his hands and knees for a few moments before he finally felt like he wasn’t going to puke or pass out.
The Sergeant appeared once again and kneeled down next to Richard. “Here.” He held a canteen out in front of Richard’s face.
Richard stared at it, not wanting to touch anything having to do with what he had just witnessed. “Who did it belong to?”
“I don’t know, they get cycled out. Probably multiple walkers.” When Richard didn’t take the canteen the Sergeant set it down on the ground next to him.
“How do you stand this?” Richard asked.
“I’d like to tell you it gets easier.” Sergeant Stebbins stood back up and leaned his back against the halftrack. “But this is my sixth walk and it’s only gotten worse.”
Richard finally felt like he had enough control of himself that he was able to sit back and lean against the halftrack as well. He was seated at Sergeant Stebbins' feet with his legs stretched out in front of him.
“Drink the water Richard.”
Harkness jumped a little at the use of his first name, he didn’t think anyone had used it since the first day of the Walk when he had checked in. He didn’t even know how Sergeant Stebbins knew it.
He did reach out and take the canteen. He tried not to think about how many dead men had probably drank from it. Ten? Twenty? Had it only been in rotation this year? Maybe a hundred dead men had taken water gratefully by way of this canteen. Maybe he was destined to die with this canteen’s water in his system too.
He took a sip.
“I don’t know how I’m going to write about this,” Richard shook his head and leaned it back against the halftrack. “If I write what I want to, I'll be killed.”
Sergeant Stebbins dropped to one knee in front of Richard so quickly it almost made Richard yelp in surprise. The fact that he didn’t was probably only due to the fact that he’d had maybe seven hours of sleep over the previous five days.
“Don’t.” The Sergeant held his hand up in front of Richard to silence him. He leaned out to one side of the halftrack and then came back to face Richard. “Do you really mean that?”
Sergeant Stebbins still had his hand up, so instead of answering Richard simply nodded.
“Want to change things?”
Richard nodded again.
“Write something that won’t get you killed,” Sergeant Stebbins said. Then he stood up and offered his hand to Richard. Richard took it and was pulled to his feet. “Then I’ll be in touch.”
He then turned and disappeared around the side of the halftrack, and Richard was left standing alone in the dark.