He never knew how long it took him to walk the distance. There seemed to be no sun here, no night, no way of keeping. He knew he was tormented the whole way. He could breathe now, but he could not drink. Thirst, which he hadn’t noticed while he was in the pit, now became an endless torture. Sometimes he found himself eyeing the dead and wondering if their blood could be consumed. But, he couldn’t force himself that far. He was dead, but he wasn’t that dead.
Fortunately, he found there was a source of water in his horrible new world. It seemed that moisture would condense on the cables above his head, then drip down in fat, dirty droplets. He was able to catch these in his hands and drink.
Strangely, he never felt hunger. Perhaps, he thought, his intestines were simply too damaged for it.
He did urinate, though. It took him by surprise, but about halfway the field of the dead, he felt his bladder fill. He had to experiment. His penis had damaged along with the rest of him. But, with a little effort, he found he could relieve himself effectively.
He sprayed the yellow droplets on a handy skull. He pretended it was the face of his enemies . . . of those who had put him here.
Slowly, the Wall grew larger. At first, it was simply a line on the horizon. Then, it became a hazy barrier against the sky. Then, it was hard and tall, like a mountain range.
Finally... he was there.
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