Read Online The Long Walk by Stephen King - Free Book Online

not.
    “Hallelujah,” Olson said. “There’ll be refreshments after the meetin’.”
    “You a religious fella?” Baker asked Garraty.
    “No, not particularly. But I’m no money freak.”
    “You might be if you grew up on potato soup and collards,” Baker sid. “Sidemeat only when your daddy could afford the ammunition.”
    “Might make a difference,” Garraty agreed, and then paused, wondering whether to say anything else. “But it’s never really the important thing.” He saw Baker looking at him uncomprehendingly and a little scornfully.
    “You can’t take it with you, that’s your next line,” McVries said.
    Garraty glanced at him. McVries was wearing that irritating, slanted smile again. “It’s true, isn’t it?” he said. “We don’t bring anything into the world and we sure as shit don’t take anything out.”
    “Yes, but the period in between those two events is more pleasant in comfort, don’t you think?” McVries said.
    “Oh, comfort, shit,” Garraty said. “If one of those goons riding that overgrown Tonka toy over there shot you, no doctor in the world could revive you with a transfusion of twenties or fifties.”
    “I ain’t dead,” Baker said softly.
    “Yeah, but you could be.” Suddenly it was very important to Garraty that he put this across. “What if you won? What if you spent the next six weeks planning what you were going to do with the cash—never mind the Prize, just the cash—and what if the first time you went out to buy something, you got flattened by a taxicab?”
    Harkness had come over and was now walking beside Olson. “Not me, babe,” he said. “First thing I’d do is buy a whole fleet of Checkers. If I win this, I may never walk again.”
    “You don’t understand,” Garraty said, more exasperated than ever. “Potato soup or sirloin tips, a mansion or a hovel, once you’re dead that’s it, they put you on a cooling board like Zuck or Ewing and that’s it. You’re better to take it a day at a time, is all I’m saying. If people just took it a day at a time, they’d be a lot happier.”
    “Oh, such a golden flood of bullshit,” McVries said.
    “Is that so?” Garraty cried. “How much planning are you doing?”
    “Well, right now I’ve sort of adjusted my horizons, that’s true—”
    “You bet it is,” Garraty said grimly. “The only difference is we’re involved in dying right now.”
    Total silence followed that. Harkness took off his glasses and began to polish them. Olson looked a shade paler. Garraty wished he hadn’t said it; he had gone too far.
    Then someone in back said quite clearly: “Hear, hear!”
    Garraty looked around, sure it was Stebbins even though he had never heard Stebbins’s voice. But Stebbins gave no sign. He was looking down at the road.
    “I guess I got carried away,” Garraty muttered, even though he wasn’t the one who had gotten carried away. That had been Zuck. “Anyone want a cookie?”
    He handed the cookies around, and it got to be five o’clock. The sun seemed to hang suspended halfway over the horizon. The earth might have stopped turning. The three or four eager beavers who were still ahead of the pack had dropped back until they were less than fifty yards ahead of the main group.
    It seemed to Garraty that the road had become a sly combination of upgrades with no corresponding downs. He was thinking that if that were true they’d all end up breathing through oxygen faceplates before long when his foot came down on a discarded belt of food concentrates. Surprised, he looked up. It had been Olson’s. His hands were twitching at his waist. There was a look of frowning surprise on his face.
    “I dropped it,” he said. “I wanted something to eat and I dropped it.” He laughed, as if to show what a silly thing that had been. The laugh stopped abruptly. “I’m hungry,” he said.
    No one answered. By that time everyone had gone by and there was no chance to pick it up. Garraty looked