Sara looks over her shoulder. She can’t tell if the look on Jason’s face is in response to Herb’s barb, or because Herb, gaunt and exhausted, his wheelchair like a fortress around him, looks so unwell. He’s even paler, skinnier, and more ragged in the bright morning light. “It’s historic register, for fuck’s sake. You could’ve burned it down, you know that?”

Jason kicks a stone off the path.

“The other Taliesin burned to the ground. Seven people, dead!”

“I said I was sorry. It’s not like I killed anyone.”

“Just your shoe contract. What will Nike do if they hear about this?”

A jogger approaches. From the way his face lights up, it’s clear he recognizes Jason. He slows, raises his phone. “No pictures!” Herb barks, and the runner scampers away. Herb looks at Jason again. “So do I? Have to worry about you?”

“I don’t know. Things aren’t good.”

Up ahead, the dog starts a panicked barking. “Oh my god!” Sara yells. A rattlesnake is coiled in the center of the trail, between her and Kirby Puckett. “Kirby’s trapped!” The trembling dog skitters back and forth, the snake watching his every move, its hiss low and sinister. “It won’t let him pass.”

Behind her another noise, a low whirring, becomes louder, closer. “Sara, move!” Jason shouts.

She can feel the machine swoosh by as she dives off the path. Herb is full-bore accelerating up the trail, a growl coming through his clenched teeth. The snake’s head whips from Kirby to Herb and the quickly approaching machine, its thrumming engine and massive wheels.

The tires flatten the snake, one smashing its head, one bisecting its body. The back wheels do the same. Kirby jumps into Herb’s lap, panting with relief.

“We done here?”

Jason may show no fear on the field, but right now it looks like he might be sick. He nods, then reaches to help Sara up. She’s landed on a cactus, the spikes of which have printed a red constellation up her arm. Jason plucks the pink flower from its crown and hands it to her. “A small consolation.”

“Don’t even think about it, Jason.” Herb, Kirby still in his lap, has pivoted the chair and is rumbling back toward them. “Sara’s mine.”

When they hit asphalt again, Herb’s phone chirps and chirps again, then makes another buzzing noise Sara doesn’t recognize. “Oh, fuck.” Herb scrolls down the screen. “Jason! I thought you said there wasn’t any press!”