Sunrise., [ Open ]

[Art Baker]

Art Baker blinked his eyes rapidly and rubbed at them roughly with his fists in an attempt to shrug off the overwhelming urge to nod back off to sleep. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep--though it felt like hours--or where they were. Miraculously, he'd gone through the latter half of the night without pulling a warning. Still placing one foot in front of the other he walked while trying to take in his surroundings.

They were surrounded by dense woods, though not far ahead he could just barely make out a sign: Welcome to Castle Rock. Population 8.

Wow. And I thought I was from a small town.

A sharp comment ran through his head and Art looked around for Maine's Own, number 47, Ray Garraty. This was his home state after all. Shielding his eyes against the sunrise, he looked toward hill in front of him and was suprised to find no one there. Art had gone the entire Walk and not been in the front of the pack and found it hard to believe he was leading them now, especially since he had been dozing.

As he turned around to walk backwards all of the sleepiness vanished from his system and was replaced by pure panic and adrenaline. The halftrack no longer trailed behind him and the soldiers had vanished with it. Even the fifty Walkers had somehow disappeared through the night. Suddenly feeling lost and completely alone Art Baker cupped his hands and yelled into the rising sun.

"Helloooo?"

[Peter McVries]

Snapping his eyes open, Peter McVries could feel himself jump a little and continue walking, like he had been, only much faster now. He was afraid he had slowed down too much and would be hearing the bark of the soldiers at any moment giving him a warning. He heard nothing. No crowd, no murmurs of the other walkers, no nothing. Wait, there were a few birds chirping. Or bugs, or whatever it was.

He whipped his head around from side to side and then finally ahead of him, where he saw the silhouette of another ahead of him. He could vaguely make out stripes on his shirt -- must be Baker. But how the hell did they get to the front of the pack? Narrowed eyes trailed to a sign on the side of the road ahead of Baker. Wait, Population 9?

"What the fuck kind of backwards ass town has a population of nine?" McVries spouted suddenly, his voice cracking and still locked in the dozing state he had been in before.

[Art Baker]

Art had already passed the Castle Rock welcome sign and had his eyes set on the seemingly quiet town in front of him when he heard a voice somewhere behind him.

Theres only one person that could be.

He whirled around and squinted his eyes, just making out the siloutte of Peter McVries. What the heck? He hadn't been there a minute ago. And what was this about the popluation? When he passed the sign it had read 8. He was absolutely sure of it..he was going to make a crack at Garraty about it.

Glancing around nervously, he decided to go back and check the sign. He was afraid that the minute he started retracing his steps the halftrack full of soldiers would appear and he'd end up getting his ticket. After he took the first initial steps, Art realized the soldiers and their rifles weren't coming back.

By the time he made it back to the sign, Peter had just about caught up to him. Taking another look at the sign, Art couldn't help but stare at it, mystified. It really did say nine.

"Where did you come from?" he asked as number 61 moved to stand beside him.

Art looked back toward the sign and felt himself literally gasp for air. He glanced back toward Peter and noticed his right foot was resting directly in line with the sign.

"Peter, look," he said quietly before the other boy had a chance to answer.

Welcome to Castle Rock. Population 10.

[Peter McVries]

Peter was still walking towards the sign when Baker stopped and turned to point it out, his own foot hitting the line when Baker told him to look. He saw a ten, where a nine had just been and his mind about exploded -- so did his body, right into Baker when he moshed into him, rushing him forward. "What are you doin', you turkey?!" He hissed, his arms tangled up in Baker's, pushing him ahead, past the sign. "You'll get a warning if you stop like that again!"

McVries was shocked Baker hadn't gotten one when he stopped just then. And he didn't bother looking around for the soldiers on the halftrack, he figured they were somewhere right behind them. He didn't want to see them again.

But Baker was right -- it had said nine, and then Peter hit the city limits and it said ten. That was still a punk ass little town. "How did we get to the front of this death parade," he finally mentioned casually, more a statement than a question. His eyes were locked on the road ahead of them, the pavement in front of his feet.

[Art Baker]

He untangled his arms from Peter's and gave him a light shove in return.

"What are you doing, man? They're gone. Don't you get it?"

Art wasn't sure why the last line had escaped his lips. He didn't understand what was going on anymore than Peter did, but somehow he knew he was right. Everyone else was gone. Despite this, he kept walking. It seemed wrong not to walk.

After a while the woods descended into houses and suddenly they were in the midst of a small town. Doubt suddenly began to take over his mind. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was a part of the walk. Maybe the half track and the soldiers really were there, lurking just out of sight. In that case, he could be seconds away from getting his ticket. He suddenly picked up speed.

"Peter, d-do-" his voice cracked." Do you think we're the only one's left? "

[Peter McVries]

Peter's eyes finally managed to move away from the road and around to the small rows of buildings on either side of them. There were small shops and quaint bars and restaurants. Peter instantly wished this was his hometown so he could sneak away to his house or into his favorite corner store and escape the Walk somehow.

"I don't know." They had grown used to the sound of gunshots, so if they had both been dozing they probably wouldn't have paid any attention if someone got killed. Peter wanted to turn his head around -- he really did -- but he couldn't bring himself to. He didn't want to see the halftrack. He didn't want to see fucking Gary Barkovitch. "I would think there would be more fanfare if we were." He was used to there being rows of people up and down the streets -- and sure, this wasn't a big town (population ten, remember now) but there was normally someone watching the Walk, right?

Especially if there was only two people left.

[Art Baker]

A long silence passed between them as they continued to walk. At first Art examined the small town and took in the small buildings and shops. It seemed like a nice enough place to live, but Art quickly decided he had seen enough of Maine. He wanted to go home.

Turning his eyes back toward the road, he kept them settled on the yellow line just in front of his feet. This was it. If they really were the only two left, then this was definitely it. He would never see home again. There was no way Art was going to walk down Peter McVries, the man was a rock. He didn't seem too affected by the Walk, but Art was just beginning to really feel the miles. His feet protested every step and he was getting a bit stiff in his right leg. He was going to have to be careful or he stood the chance of suffering a cramp. If it happened when he was out of warnings, a cramp would mean punching his ticket.

Art wasn't sure how long he'd been lost in thoughts, but when he looked up again he noticed they were no longer surrounded by shops and sidewalks. Instead the buildings had been replaced by thicket and underbrush. But there was something familiar about these woods. Squinting his eyes, Art could see a sign about a mile in the distance, but he couldn't read it yet. He tore his eyes from the road and focused them back on the woods. Maybe he'd seen so much of Maine that it was all beginning to look the same.

After several minutes passed, Art squinted his eyes once again and felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

Weclome to Castle Rock. Population 10.

[Peter McVries]

Peter saw the sign probably about the same time Art did, because his feet just quit on him. The sign caused him to freeze up in a muted sort of shock, his eyes locked on it as his hands worked into fists and out furiously at his sides. He had pretty much forgotten how many warnings he had at that point, his mind bouncing between the POPULATION 10 YOU HAVE ALREADY SEEN THIS WELCOME! shit to the fact that he would be feeling a hot spray of lead somewhere on his body within seconds.

"What the hell?" he asked breathlessly. Not because he had been winded, but because he didn't know anyone on the Walk could hallucinate this bad. "Baker?" The croak came from his lips. "Do you see that too?"

[Art Baker]

Art, too, had stopped dead in his tracks. He inhaled deeply, but the air didn't come. He couldn't do anything but stare at the sign. Someone was playing a joke on them, right? Coughing as air finally reentered his lungs a few moments later, Art tore his eyes from the sign and looked at Peter.

"Yeah," he answered quietly. "I see it."

Suddnely, he began shaking. Goosebumps pimpled his skin and he felt genuine fear settle into the pit of his stomach. Something was very wrong here. Where were the others> There was no way they had walked down that many through the night. Peter was right. If they really were the last Walkers there would be a tumult around them.

"Pete, where's the halftrack?" Art asked shakily as he glanced back, half-expecting to see a rifle staring him in the face. When he voiced his next question it came out as barely more than a whisper. "Why are we alone?"

[Peter McVries]

Peter saw Art successfully look behind them without getting shot in the face, but somehow at that moment Peter couldn't bring himself to do the same. His feet were glued to the ground and his eyes were locked to the side, shifting so he could see Art in the very corner of his field of vision. He couldn't even turn his head.

Taking a few deep breaths, his fingers working into fists and then out, Peter finally was able to turn his head to the side, over his shoulder, his eyes shifting to look behind them. There was nothing.

That's what broke him out of his trance. He stumbled around, throwing his arms out in front of him. "The fuck is this?!" Shifting foward a few steps, back towards the woods, Peter's head whipped from side to side. Nothing at all.

Finally looking back to Art, Peter sighed. "What should we do, man?"

[Art Baker]

"I dunno," Art replied with a shiver. He couldn't tell whether it was from the sudden burst of chilly wind or his jumpy nerves.

He had silently prayed to be delivered safely from the walk, despite how hopeless the idea really was. Art had finally decided he wasn't ready to die, but by that time it was much too late. Once you're on the black-top theres only one way to get out of it, and Art wasn't ready to punch his ticket just yet.

Now that some sort of divine intervention had changed laid down its hand, Art was quickly beginning to decide he didn't like the game. At least on the Walk he knew what waited for him at the finish line. Either unlimited wealth and fame, or a lead-lined box and a nice long sleep. But this was different.

Art had no idea what Castle Rock held in store for him and Pete, but for the time being he was at least happy to be standing still. That in iteslf was a gift, and if this was the trump card that divine intervention wanted to play then by God, Art Baker was going to enjoy it.

"Maybe we should just walk into the town and see whats going on."

[Steve Ames]

Steven Ames was lost. He'd been lost for an hour now, but figured he'd come across road signs eventually and straigten things out. Now, however, he was beginning to feel that wasn't the case.

Six hours ago he'd left New York City in a Ryder truck filled with stage equipment for some band. Steve didn't know how far this group would make it, but he liked their sound and they cut him a check every week to haul stuff around. In his opinion, you really couldn't beat this gig.

Steve reached toward the passenger seat and grabbed a highway map of Maine. This shit didn't make sense. He had been headed for some town named Derry and ended up on the other side of fucking Maine.

Oh well, he thought. No problem, man. Just ask for directions.

Despite these calm thoughts, somewhere in the back of his mind images of suburban houses turned into log cabins, modern day convienent stores with hitching posts and water troughs out front, and cactus growing in the middle of Ohio began to reappear. WIth a large gulp of air, Steve forced himself to quell the thoughts of Poplar Street and its inhabitants.

Steve's inner struggle was suddenly diverted when he noticed two teenage boys standing on the side of the road. Edging the Ryder to a slow stop by the wayside, he rolled down the window and called out to the boys.

"You guys need a ride?"

[Peter McVries]

Peter squealed like a school girl at the sound of a voice that wasn't his or Baker's and instantly spun around, expecting rifles or soldiers or something horrible in his face. No, it was just a guy in a Ryder truck. It wasn't a hafltrack through and that was all he cared about.

"A ride?" Peter croaked.

That would be really nice. To sit and drive down the road instead of walking with the feet and the hot asphalt and the buzz of the insects. A nice air-conditioned vehicle and a place to sit. Yes.

But Peter could only bring himself to look at Baker warily. Something was wrong here.

He quickly turned back to the man in the truck and tried to shrug as casually as possible. "Uh, a ride, yeah, um. What's up ahead anyways?"

[Art Baker]

He didn't exactly squeal at the sudden sound of an unfamiliar voice, but instead let out something between a gasp and a startled cry. He knew exactly what he would find if he craned his neck and glanced back. Frankly, Art was no longer interested in keeping company with rifles or the emotionless soldiers wielding them.

Keeping his head straight, Art shifted his pupils to the extreme right-corner of his eyes. When he saw the front of the Ryder truck, he relaxed a bit and allowed himself to turn around.

"A ride," he whispered in wonder. To have the road pass steadily beneath your feet without moving a musvle, to actually sit in a seat, to be protected from the cold and rain should the weather change abruptly...it all sounded like heaven to Art.

With a quick glance at Pete, he began nodding excitedly. "Yes, please!"

[Steve Ames]

He frowned when the boys acted so harshly to his question. He hadn't meant to scare them. When the taller boy turned around and spoke, he let his eyes briefly glance up the road.

"I was hoping you could tell me. I'm a bit lost."

After a few moments the other kid finally turned to face him and it was Steve's turn to jump. He noted the baggy clothing and deep shadows beneath their eyes. These guys looked like they'd been through hell and back and made the journey without a single meal.

"Well," he encourage with a small smile as the one in the striped shirt finally spoke. "Hop on in."