He was dead.

Peter McVries, number sixty-one, was the ninety-eighth to fall.

There was no transition period, just a jarring change from the dusty Maine roads to an odd cobbled street. It was dark. There was no light, save for the moonlight and the random light shining through the cracks between the shutters on the houses that flanked the road.

With nothing better to do, Peter got up and began to walk.

The weird part about this place was the complete lack of noise, save for his feet hitting the stones. His feet felt better now, he noticed. In fact, he felt better as a whole. A little hungry, but other than that, he felt completely fine.

Seeing as he was alone, he let his mind wander. Who had won? Stebbins or Ray? He had a feeling it was Stebbins. Stebbins winning was almost a certainty, because Ray Garraty was just a hundred-and-sixty pound boy from Maine. Stebbins was… well, Stebbins was the rabbit.

There was a nice-looking area up ahead – it looked green and grassy from what he could see. There was also someone in there – a small figure slumped against a tree. McVries glanced around, decided that there was nothing better to do, and headed for the place.

Once he got closer, he saw who it was.

"Holy shit," he muttered. "It's Barkovitch."

It was Barkovitch. He was sleeping, thank God – if he wasn't he'd be unbearably annoying. As it was, the prick looked remarkably childlike and vulnerable. McVries's hate for Barkovitch was overridden by a memory of his death – the death that no-one should have to go through, even someone like Barkovitch. Even though his last words had given McVries a headache.

Barkovitch shifted, like he could feel someone watching him sleep. McVries debated leaving, then decided that being with Barkovitch was better than being alone. He had no idea where he was – better stick with someone he knew than be completely alone, possibly for the rest of his time here. Who knew? Barkovitch could be the only other Walker here.

Okay, that was a depressing thought.

Barkovitch decided to wake up then, yawning and still looking incredibly childlike. "Scarface?" he asked, standing up. McVries thought about punching him in the face, just because he was an annoying little prick, but refrained. Again with the 'possible only other Walker here.' He didn't want to be alone just because he'd made a stupid mistake, like had happened so many times before.

"Killer," McVries said. They stood in a slightly awkward silence, Barkovitch crossing his arms and leaning against a tree, McVries glancing around every few moments. "Have you seen any others?"

"Nope," Barkovitch said. "Found this place and fell asleep as soon as I got here. Christ, I'm hungry. You know who won?"

McVries blinked. Weirdly enough, Barkovitch was being sort of… not annoying. "No… either Garraty or Stebbins."

Barkovitch snorted. "Stebbins then."

McVries, though he silently agreed, glared at Barkovitch. Barkovitch didn't seem bothered, and instead yawned. How on earth was he still tired? He'd been sleeping for God knows how long under that tree.

"Hey!"

That had to be Parker. McVries turned around and, sure enough, Collie Parker was jogging toward them, grinning.

"If it isn't McVries and Barkobitch having a civil conversation," he said. "Thought the day'd never come."

"Barkobitch?"

"Yeah. Figured if this bastard can give you a nickname, so can I. I'm more creative, though-"

"All you did was replace one letter."

"But creatively."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Make me-"

"Okay, okay, you're both queer for each other, can we move on?" McVries said, sighing. Two pairs of angry eyes turned on him.

"What- I'm not-" Barkovitch sputtered. Parker looked like he was about to hit McVries.

"Him?"

"You're one to talk, look at you and that dumb hick Garraty," Barkovitch said. "If there's anyone that's queer, it's you."

Olson had put his past life fully behind him.

He'd traded in his clothes for some clothes from this place – this weird place that didn't seem to be an afterlife, really, but he knew it was. He was dead. He'd seen his guts fall out on the road, he'd felt the bullets enter his body, no matter how dulled his senses had been back then. Yes, he was dead, and by now all the others had to be as well.

He'd been mostly alone, at first. And then he'd met Alexis.

Alexis didn't know anything about the regular world. She lived on her own, and she was a lot like Olson. He spent much of his time telling her stories of the other world, just so he wouldn't forget.

It was dark now. Night came quickly – it always did. One minute it was light, the next it was pitch black. Olson stared out the window while Alexis got ready to go to sleep. She had work early every morning, so she went to bed much earlier than Olson did. Olson usually sat up for a few hours, watching for people he knew out the window. He knew it was unlikely that they'd come stumbling this way, far away from the town, but there was always the chance.

It looked like the chance was now. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that Rank was wandering around out there.

"I'll be right back," he said. Alexis nodded.

"Don't get hurt."

Rank was not in a good mood. Olson, who really wasn't that good at calming people down, promised Rank that, yes, they'd find Barkovitch and yes, Rank could beat the shit out of him, yes, he could do that.

"You can sleep in the stable," Olson said. Rank, to his surprise, didn't object and went rather peacefully.

"Was that one of your walking friends?" Alexis asked.

"You could say that."

"The prince has arrived!"

Stebbins, who had no idea what was going on, was the prince. As soon as he'd died and ended up in this strange world, he'd been hailed as 'Prince Stebbins of Nusquam' and now he was feasting.

It was a rather odd experience, now that he thought about it.

This is one of the three multi-chaptered fics I have yet to finish.