Eddie got his first lesson in the Long Walk grapevine right after they finished the first mile.
"Eddie Corcoran's stubbed his toe and he's limping," Stan said. "Tell Ben."
"Why've I got to tell Ben? He doesn't even know Corcoran. Neither do I!"
"I dunno. Just because. It's to get the word out, I guess."
"If Corcoran's gonna die, why does everybody have to know?!"
Stan considered it. "Everybody knows anyways. Might as well prepare the kids who'll get squeamish if it does happen." Eddie didn't mention to him that he was probably one of the kids who would get squeamish. Stan squinted at him like he was trying to figure out what he was thinking, then sighed. "Just tell Ben."
Eddie drew back a little to where Ben was walking by himself. "Hey, Ben. Eddie Corcoran stubbed his toe and has a limp. Pass it back to Bill."
Ben didn't even question it. "Okay, sure. Thanks for telling me." Eddie wondered what the boys had all discussed before the Walk that he apparently hadn't been in on. Feeling a little sour, he walked back up past Stan to where Richie was cleaning his glasses a few paces ahead. He was spraying them with a little clear bottle and rubbing them with a handkerchief of some kind.
"So you heard about Corcoran's foot." Richie sounded almost disappointed. "I wonder if he'll be our first lucky Walker to buy a ticket."
"Why do any of you care? It's not a sport or anything! Somebody's gonna...I've seen the Walk on TV!" Richie laughed. Eddie suddenly felt his face getting warm. "You guys all think I'm some silly kid, don't you? I'm scared, Richie! I'm scared because none of you are scared! That's scary!"
"I'm sure you're scared enough for all of us, Eds." Richie gave him a smile that looked like the kind on a magazine cover. "Bless your soul," he added in a faux Southern accent. It sounded too much like him to be believable.
"So you are all making fun of me."
"I like you, Eddie. I look forward to walking with you." He flashed Eddie that smile again, and started walking fast again. He got up behind Bowers and his gang, where Eddie Corcoran was walking with his limp. Eddie wondered what the hell Richie was doing up there.
Eddie Corcoran was a big kid. He looked like he played football. But if a stubbed toe had gotten him limping, he had to be pretty weak. But then the word came back again.
"Corcoran's foot swelled up," Stan said, his face grave.
"What'd he do to it?!"
"I don't know. That's the crazy thing. I don't think anybody really does. Not even him."
Bill and Ben were walking side by side now, and Bill was writing rapidly in his notebook. Eddie fell in behind them, becoming an unspoken part of their conversation. "I like to write poetry," Ben was saying. "I like to write them about things I think are pretty, you know? Or things I feel really strongly about. I feel like that's what poems are for."
Bill nodded. Eddie noticed how many freckles he had; they dotted his skin like little periods with no sentences in front of them. "P-poems have always been hard for me."
"Maybe I can teach you. I don't know if poems are something you can teach people, but we have awhile, so I guess I can try." Both laughed.
"Stan wanted me to tell you, Ben. Corcoran's foot is swollen." Eddie felt weird, getting in between their somewhat intimate poetry conversation.
"I already h-heard that. I hear it's all p-purple!" Bill said.
"Jesus, really?" Eddie felt a little ill at that image. From the expression on his face, Ben shared that sentiment.
"Isn't Corcoran with Bowers? I dunno how bad I can feel for him if he likes that guy."
"Yeah, but he's still a person. He didn't even know Bowers before this. I...I don't want him to die." Eddie swallowed.
Bill had been walking silently. "C-can you not say that word? D-die, I mean. It sk-skeeves me out."
"Okay. Sorry," Eddie said, feeling terrible at the forlorn look Bill's face had taken on. The question of why was on the tip of his tongue, but his conscience told him it would probably be a bad idea to ask.
"It's not that I'm a p-pansy," Bill said. "It's j-just that I..."
"I get it." Ben patted him on the shoulder. Eddie found himself falling behind them, and just let it happen. He looked at the endless fields of grass on either side of the highway, and the sky, which had settled into the late morning's cornflower blue. In the distance, he could see the faint purple outline of mountains. He hoped they didn't have to climb any mountains.
"Warning! Warning 9!" It was Eddie Corcoran. He was still walking, but he'd slowed below the speed minimum. Eddie was suddenly glad they used the numbers and not the names. It would have killed him to hear his name being shouted like that, even if it wasn't for him.
Corcoran snapped something at the soldier that was apparently witty, because the boys around him laughed. He knelt down and fiddled with his shoelace, then stood back up again. "Second warning, 9!"
Eddie was suddenly inexplicably drawn to the boy who shared his name, and sped up his pace. Bowers and Hockstetter were clustered around Corcoran, so Eddie waited for an instant when Corcoran drew outside of their little clump.
"Hi," he began. Corcoran had a babyish face, but a scowl of concentration on his features. "You're Eddie Corcoran, right?"
"Yeah. Who the hell are you?"
"Eddie Kaspbrak. I'm Eddie, too." He laughed, trying to make it sound naturally. "How're you doing?"
"Alright. My foot hurts."
"My mother packed some Neosporin. Do you want any?"
"Sure." Eddie Corcoran gave him a little half-hearted smile. "I can walk off another warning to put some on. You think I can do it, right?"
"Yeah. I think you could." Eddie reached back and pulled the little tube out of his packsack. "Here. From one Eddie to another." Eddie Corcoran laughed and took it from him and sat down on the road and pulled off his shoe. He fumbled to unscrew the cap. Eddie wondered how long it would be before he got a warning. He didn't have to wonder very long.
"Warning! Third warning 9!" Eddie Corcoran's shoe was off now. His foot was purple. Eddie felt the urge to look away, but couldn't, and began walking backwards. He was rubbing the cream on his bare, bruised foot. Oh my god, Eddie thought suddenly. He's got to get up. He's got to. He's got practically a second or they're going to...
Eddie Corcoran started to his feet, but stumbled, his face suddenly contorting in pain when he stepped on the concrete with his bare foot. He fell down. Eddie swore you could have heard a pin drop in that moment. The whole Walk was silent. Then came the soldiers and their guns.
Eddie Corcoran's eyes were shut. He just kept rubbing Eddie's mother's Neosporin on his foot. He was whispering something. And then they took him. Blood spattered on his sweatshirt. His hand drooped where it'd been rubbing his foot. The Neosporin tube lay next to his dead body. Eddie realized, suddenly, that he was crying. Oh god. But the strangest thing was that he was oddly sad that he'd never see that tube of Neosporin ever again. What would become of it? He'd have to tell his mother.
"If you wanted to kill a man, oxygen whore, you did good." Henry Bowers was beside him. He didn't think 'oxygen whore' was anything he'd ever been called before. "Congratulations. The first down on the Walk and it's your kill. Didja
plan it? I underestimated you!"
"Stop!" Eddie yelled. "Just stop it! Fuck you!" With those words came the strange discovery that no one was around to keep him from saying them.
Fun, fun chapter. The action's started now.