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motes of dust. He couldn’t be sure how much of it he could actually use, but better safe than sorry.
    “… something about who made this trail. Fuck if I know.” Donald wasn’t talking to him as much as he spoke around him. Mark figured not responding was the best response.
    Mark caught the couple at the head of the procession—Justine and Trevor. They looked like they were in love. Cute. Mark knew he would never use a picture of them for the paper, but he took it anyway. Glassing them over, he snapped off a shot. Trevor had an arm around her waist. Justine’s hand was buried in the guy’s back pocket.
    “Think she’s holding those damn things up for him?” Donald chuckled. “She’s cute… for a black chick. Not that I’m racist. I used to date a…”
    “You used to date a black girl?” Mark finished. He had no idea why he cared, but he felt he needed to ask.
    Donald’s eyes had changed. He didn’t seem so cocksure anymore. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Say you haven’t been married, huh? So how does Tubby get his rocks off? A man has needs, after all.”
    “Why are you so interested in my sex life?” He knew better than to kick a hornet’s nest, but he’d just blurted it out.
    “Just making small talk, Tubby.”
    Small talk. Mark almost laughed, but caught himself at the last moment and gave no response.
    “Nothing? I left the door wide open. Small talk? Get it? Oh, well. You’re thinking it, though. I can tell. I know people.”
    Mark felt himself flush. Donald was good.
    “I knew it. It’s okay. I get people’s snide remarks all the time. I’m sure you do, too. Tubby. Big man. Fat ass. All that crap. They like to point out the obvious, don’t they?”
    Mark didn’t like the way Donald was making him feel, as though he should judge people by their reactions to the fact that he was a little overweight. Okay. Maybe more than a little, but that wasn’t the point. “If you go around hating everyone based on what they might be thinking, you’ll drive yourself crazy.”
    Donald stopped and focused a cold glare on him. “You saying I’m crazy?”
    “No. Not at all. I’m just saying—”
    “Calm down. What am I gonna do, Tubby? Kick your ass? Highly unlikely.” Donald began walking again, laughing as he went.
    Little bastard’s getting to me .
    One… two… three… four…
    “You coming?” Donald called back to him.
    Mark nodded. He grimaced when he felt his chin quiver with the action.
    Five… six… seven… eight…
    Mark raised his camera and turned around. He took several pictures of the way they had come. The beginning of the trail was out of sight. He supposed his banter with Donald had served a purpose other than irritating him. He’d gotten pretty far, and though his breathing was still labored, he didn’t feel as if he’d been walking all that long. His knees weren’t even bothering him yet.
    When he turned back around, Jaleel was leading the group around a soft curve. Mark took a deep breath, his stomach rising and collapsing with the effort, then put a foot forward. He’d catch up with them eventually. No need to hurry. There seemed to only be one way in or out of this place, so it wasn’t like he was going to lose them.
    Nine… ten…
     

8
     
     
    MARSHA NOTICED HER CALVES BEGINNING to burn just as the path widened into a clearing about thirty feet in diameter. By her estimate, they’d been walking for about twenty minutes and hadn’t seen anything but trees and scrub. She kept wanting to check her watch, track the time they’d been gone from the car, but she knew Lyle would notice. If he assumed she was bored, her plan might be ruined.
    The tour guide stopped in front of a tall posterboard with a map pinned to it and did his best Vanna White impression, all stylish hands. “Here we are, folks. Fairchild Lookout. Sponsored by—”
    “Yeah, we know. Cheapo Cola,” Trevor interrupted. Justine elbowed him in the side.
    Marsha had to laugh. The couple