Resistant by Michael Palmer Page A

thing.
    Never.
    Fortunately, Lou’s therapist and the program head at Templeton Treatment Center had gone to bat for him, and the people at Eisenhower Memorial had listened. Otherwise, thousands of hours of studying and years of training would have been trashed.
    By the time Cap returned to the hotel at nine, Lou was conferenced out, and grateful that the day to come would begin with another run through the mountains.
    Cap had other ideas.
    “Are you still thinking about a run tomorrow?” he asked as they headed to their room. “Before I left for my aunt’s I checked out the health club down in the basement. Pretty fine. We could go there and do some lifting instead of slogging out on the trail.”
    “They have any punching bags?”
    “Not that I saw.”
    “Hotel gyms never have boxing stuff. I opt for the run. The concierge suggested a new trail for us to try. He said it’ll take us up even higher into the hills, with great views of the Chattahoochee.”
    “You know, the weather report posted in the lobby said it’s going to be a misty, rainy morning tomorrow. I was thinking I might just sleep in. I did a lot of driving today.”
    Lou was disappointed and, he realized, still somewhat embarrassed by his two tumbles the previous morning. The sooner he got back on the trail, the better he would be feeling about it.
    “You know the rules of safe trail running,” he heard himself saying before he could swallow back the manipulative words. “Can’t go without a partner, partner. I’ve got a big speech to deliver tomorrow, and it’ll be flatter than roadkill if I don’t get in a run beforehand.”
    “You said it was going to be flat no matter what you did.”
    “Maybe so, but Filstrup is going to order a copy of the recording of the damn thing. No way he won’t believe I cost him the election if he loses.”
    “Which you say he will.”
    “It’s just a strong suspicion, but yes. Come on, pal, don’t leave me hanging.”
    Cap relented, but not with any of his typical enthusiasm.
    *   *   *
    THE EARLY morning air woke Lou more completely than any cup of coffee ever could. From the lodge’s front porch, he scanned the thick band of mist that blanketed the forest. The forecast, posted in the lobby, called for the drizzle and fog to dissipate over the next few hours, then give way to sunshine.
    It was just twenty or so minutes past dawn. The drizzle wasn’t much, but it was more than enough to dampen the ground and make the rocks slick. They would have to be extra careful. Despite the conditions, Lou could hardly wait to immerse himself in these woods once again. The serenity and natural beauty of the place was food for his soul, and he vowed to find a way to make trail running a more regular part of his life—maybe join a club of some sort.
    Cap was stretching his hamstrings on the lawn, looking only a little more awake than when Lou had roused him a half hour before. He had crawled out of bed mumbling about the predicted fog, drizzle, and rain. But typical of the man, he was rallying.
    “Okay, buddy, I’m warmed up,” Cap announced, looking again like the determined athlete he was. “Which way are we headed?”
    Lou unfolded the contour map.
    “We’re going to wind our way up the Blue Ridge Trail, right here. It looks like we’ll be pretty high up, so we might get a bit winded.”
    “You got the GPS?”
    “Right here in my pack,” Lou said, holding up the bag. “Snacks and water, too.”
    Lou had checked both Trail Runner backpacks after his slips. Moleskin, two four-inch ACE bandages, rope, knife, mini flashlight, the map, Band-Aids, gauze, and a finger splint. He also had a special hemostatic bandage he had appropriated from the ER that would help to clot any bleeding from a scrape to a more serious laceration. He was betting the kit would see some use.
    “How far are we going?” Cap asked.
    “Hour out and an hour back, is what the concierge said.”
    “Then let’s hit it.”
    Lou