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“Yeah. But we’re being careful.”
“Are you worried?”
“Does it matter? I can’t sit around doing nothing. Could you?”
Gabriel thought about that for a minute. “No. I couldn’t.”
Then he had to shut up, because Hunter stepped up the pace again.
Beyond the seventh mile, Gabriel was really starting to feel it.
They were holding a seven-minute-mile pace, and his legs ached.
His lungs burned. That stitch in his side that had been a minor irritant at mile three now felt like a red-hot iron poker.
The one time he wanted to pull energy from the sun, and the sky was overcast.
“If you want to stop,” said Hunter, with zero strain in his voice, “I can swing back for you when I’m done.”
“We’ll see who’s lying in a pile at the end of the trail.”
“Race you to the car?”
“Yeah, I’ll wait for you at the car.”
And then, though his legs screamed in protest, Gabriel leapt forward into a sprint.
Damn, it felt good to compete, to do something he could control. He hadn’t realized how much he’d miss the easy camaraderie of a team, the physical strain of working toward one common purpose. On the field or on the course, or hell, here on the trail, the objective was clear. Make a basket. Put the ball in the goal. Win the race.
Pass the test?
Gabriel wondered if that’s why this guy was starting these fires. It was so much easier to send things on a path toward destruction.
At the turnoff for the parking lot at the trailhead, Gabriel didn’t slow. Hunter was right there, not letting up. They veered around a couple with bikes, almost trampled a mother navigating a jogging stroller, and shot onto the parking lot, spraying pea gravel with every step.
He stretched out a hand to slap the tailgate of the SUV.
Right at the same time as Hunter.
“Damn it,” he gasped.
At least Hunter was breathing as hard as he was, his hands braced on his knees. “All right. Another five miles?”
“Shut up.” Gabriel smiled.
They dug for change in the center console and bought bottles of water from the machine at the ranger station by the trailhead.
Then they collapsed in the grass under an oak tree. The sun was starting to break free of the clouds, and Gabriel pushed damp strands of hair off his face.
“Figures,” he said. “Now the sun comes out.”
Hunter took a long pull of water. “Do you usually run with Nick?”
“Nah. He’ll go if I drag him out of the house, but not for any kind of distance. Chris will run in the spring, when baseball starts.”
Hunter peeled at the label on his bottle. “I used to run with my dad.”
“Was he slow, too?”
