Tommy Ross woke up alone and, for some reason, on a road. He sat up, rubbing his head. The last thing he remembered was blood… blood everywhere… all over Carrie? Maybe? He wasn't sure. They'd been made Prom King and Queen and it had been wonderful; he'd been high off the beauty of the night even if it was Carrie White – hell, maybe it being Carrie White made it even better.
"You didn't Walk."
Tommy looked up. Standing before him was a boy with dark hair and an ugly scar down one side of his face. He was looking at Tommy curiously. "Walk?" Tommy asked. The boy kept looking at him. "I… no, I was at the prom. With Carrie. And then…" He strained to remember, but he couldn't think of anything after the blood.
The boy held out his hand and Tommy took it. The boy pulled him to his feet. "I'm Peter McVries and, as far as I can tell, you're the only one here who didn't die on that goddam Walk."
"I'm Tommy Ross," Tommy said, feeling weirder and weirder by the second. "What's this Walk you keep talking about?"
"What's this… you mean you don't know about The Long Walk?" Peter asked, taking a closer look at him. Tommy shook his head. Peter began to laugh. "Holy shit, what kind of world did you grow up in?"
"Chamberlain, Maine," Tommy said promptly, and at that they both started laughing for no discernable reason. By the time they were done laughing, they had grown closer – friends, almost.
"C'mon, I'll introduce you to the other Walkers," Peter said, grabbing Tommy's arm and pulling him down the road. Tommy let himself be pulled, and he let himself be introduced to the other 'Walkers', whatever that meant. He made a mental note to ask Peter again later.
The other Walkers were an extremely mixed bunch. There was a blond named Stebbins who just nodded at them, and another blond who introduced himself as Art Baker and smiled prettily before asking for Tommy's name. There was a tall ginger with a deep voice named Abraham, and an angry, muscular boy from somewhere in the Midwest who called himself Collie Parker and then told them to fuck off. There was Olson and Pearson and Harkness, there was Barkovitch and Ewing and Rank, there were more whose names Tommy didn't quite remember. Most of them looked more than a little shocked.
Once Tommy and Peter were alone, Tommy asked the question that had been in his mind the entire time he'd been talking to the 'Walkers.'
"Am I dead?" Tommy asked, and Peter burst out laughing again. Tommy waited patiently for him to stop.
"Well, I'd guess so, seeing as everyone else here is," Peter said, and for a split second Tommy saw the other boy with half of his head gone, as if it had been blown away by a gun. Then it was back to normal. Tommy shuddered. "That's how The Long Walk works – you Walk or you Die. Everyone here? We died."
"Oh," Tommy said. He couldn't think of anything better to say. Peter clapped him on the back.
"You'll fit in well," he said. "Even though you don't seem to be quite fucked up enough yet."
Tommy smiled. "Don't forget, I went to prom with Carrie White," he said, half to himself.
As far as the afterlife went, this didn't seem too bad.
i wrote the first half of this when i was having my freak-out about ansel elgort
but yeah i dunno