The Long Walk

by Richard Bachman

“Joe and Mike? The leather-jacket guys everybody thought was queer for each other? They’re Hopis. I think that was what Scramm was trying to tell us before, and we weren’t gettin’ him. But… see… what I hear is that they’re brothers.” Garraty’s jaw dropped. “I walked up and took a good look at ’em,” Baker was going on. “And I’ll be goddamned if they don’t look like brothers.” “That’s twisted,” McVries said angrily. “That’s fucking twisted! Their folks ought to be Squaded for allowing something like that!” “You ever know any Indians?” Baker asked quietly. “Not unless they came from Passaic,” McVries said. He still sounded angry. “There’s a Seminole reservation down home, across the state line,” Baker said. “They’re funny people. They don’t think of things like ‘responsibility’ the same way we do. They’re proud. And poor. I guess those things are the same for the Hopis as they are for the Seminoles. And they know how to die.” “None of that makes it right,” McVries said. “They come from New Mexico,” Baker said. “It’s an abortion,” McVries said with finality, and Garraty tended to agree.