kept the run under ten minutes. A lanky college-age kid in green racing shorts burned past, chuffing like a steam engine. Green Shorts sprinted the straights, ducking in and out of lanes as he passed other runners like he owned the place. He got a little close for Cutter’s taste, almost but not quite touching shoulders. Cutter chalked it up to immaturity and ignored him. The kid was probably just showing off for the three college-age ladies who’d come in at the same time.
Putting Green Shorts out of his mind, Cutter focused on his own run, and ticked down a list of things he needed for his upcoming trip.
He kept a go-bag ready to travel for fugitive work, so it didn’t take him long to pack for the trip out west. In some parts of the country, the winter and summer kits might be different, but in Alaska, where rain and freezing temperatures might happen any month of the year, the things he took with him remained substantially the same, just adding a heavier parka and winter boots.
Most rural villages had no restaurants or hotels. Visitors brought their own sleeping bags and food, which usually consisted of Meals Ready to Eat. Cutter had eaten enough MREs in the military that he could just about identify each entrée by feeling the weight of the pouch. He’d picked out his favorites from the task force storage closet—chili mac and three-cheese tortellini (that one came with Skittles)—and done his civic duty by steering Lola away from the veggie burger and beef enchilada. They’d bring assorted granola bars and other snacks as well, along with a water filter, iodine tablets, and some powdered drink mix to mask the taste of the iodine. Cutter had a strong gut, but one of his military instructors in Basic had pointed out that for every soldier who died in battle during the US war with Mexico, seven had died from dysentery. He had eaten enough half-cooked goat and drunk enough cloudy water—and suffered the consequences—to last him ten lifetimes.
They’d each bring a .40 caliber semiautomatic pistol; Lola’s was the larger Glock 22 issued by the USMS, Cutter’s was a smaller Glock 27 that he carried over his right kidney to comport with US Marshals policy. He considered his grandfather’s Colt Python, worn over his hip, the primary weapon. Since Stone Cross was a long way from anywhere, each deputy took three extra magazines rather than the customary two. Cutter had a speed loader for the revolver in his coat pocket and a plastic “speed strip” with six additional rounds in the breast pocket of his vest. The semiauto was certainly faster to reload, but the Colt had character—and a long history. In truth, in the bush the .357 revolver made a heck of a lot more sense than the Glock. But USMS headquarters firearms policy didn’t often make sense regarding Alaska. For one thing, it didn’t take big bears into account.
Lola would bring her long gun, a Colt M4 with an Aimpoint Patrol holographic sight. Each would also carry a small day pack with basic survival and first-aid gear for self-care as well as extra in case they had to treat any wounds the judge might receive. The chances that Markham would need a Band-Aid or cold medicine were much greater than them having to fight their way out of a confrontation. Still, they wanted to be prepared for anything.
Cutter kicked up his pace on the last straightaway. He checked his watch when he crossed the finish, slowed to a walk as he rounded the curve, catching his breath. Nine forty-one. Not too shabby. Out of habit, he’d kept something back. Running after a fugitive wasn’t like a track meet. You couldn’t leave it all at the finish line. You had to have enough steam left to fight the guy after you caught up with him.
Mim was ahead of him now, halfway down the straight, still in lane five, second from the outside. Cutter liked to walk a few laps after he ran, so he jogged to catch up. They could walk together while he cooled down. Green Shorts chuffed past again, still weaving in and out, veering outside so he very nearly ran over Mim.
Cutter picked up his pace, catching Mim in a few easy strides.
“Well, he’s kind of a jerk,” she said, nodding to Green Shorts.
“I noticed that.”
“How was your run?”
“Good.”
“You don’t seem tired,” she said. “You must recover fast.”
He smiled. “I got a big heart.”
She