The spelling seemed to help Zero. It gave him something to concentrate on besides his pain and weakness.
It distracted Stanley as well. The next time he looked up at Big Thumb, it really did seem closer.
They quit spelling words when it hurt too much to talk. Stanley's throat was dry.
He was weak and exhausted, yet as bad as he felt, he knew that Zero felt ten times worse.
As long as Zero could keep going, he could keep going, too. It was possible, he thought, he hoped,
that he didn't get any of the bad bacteria. Zero hadn't been able to unscrew the lid.
Maybe the bad germs couldn't get in, either.
Maybe the bacteria were only in the jars which opened easily, the ones he was now carrying in his sack.
What scared Stanley the most about dying wasn't his actual death. He figured he could handle the pain.
It wouldn't be much worse than what he felt now. In fact, maybe at the moment of his death he would be too weak to feel pain.
Death would be a relief. What worried him the most was the thought of his parents not knowing what happened to him,
not knowing whether he was dead or alive. He hated to imagine what it would be like for his mother and father,
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