Page 33 of Wild Child
"How do the two of you know each other?" I asked as I stepped back onto the trail.
Kimball chuckled. "Steve and I met on a dare with some friends, actually, and have spent a lot of time together since then. We both wanted to see what we thought of the mountains." He spread his arms. "And here we are."
"Oh. Where are you from?"
"Lots of places.”
His vague response left empty air that I struggled to know how to fill. In the end, I didn't need to.
"Doing good, Stevie boy?” Kimball asked. He reached forward, close enough now to clap Steve on the shoulder, then give him a shove that seemed just a bit too forceful. "We don't want a girl to out-hike you."
My teeth gritted at the sexist remark, and I wanted to snap back, "I'll out-hike you any day you arrogant swine.” My future as a guide depended on my professionalism, so I bit it back.
Not surprisingly, the conversation fell flat for the next hour.
* * *
"You doing all right, Steve?"
That afternoon, Steve waved a vague hand from where he stood at a burbling stream, doubled over and dry heaving. Bright red splotches colored his face, and one of his water bottles lay empty on the ground next to him. He dunked a kerchief back in the water, then wiped his face off and left the soaked material across the back of his neck. We’d been hiking for six hours. He’d grown more uncomfortable and fatigued every hour, but hadn’t complained.
My shoulders were ready for a break as I dropped my pack and reached for a water bottle. Devin stopped behind me with a little grunt of pain. He grimaced when he dropped his pack, then moved his left shoulder in a few circles. Did it bother him? His bag was heavier than mine by at least fifty pounds.
Kimball lay in the grass and stared up at the sky. "Quiet up here," he murmured, then frowned. "Kinda weird."
Weirdwasn't my preferred description of the peaceful, gentle calm, but not everyone appreciated the mountains, so I let that go.
"How much longer until we get to the pass?" Kimball asked.
"Two days from now is the earliest," I said, "but it's harder going up, so we may need more time."
"If we keep going today, will that help?"
"Well, yes."
"Good. We'll take a short break, then keep going."
He said it so easily, as if his friend wasn’t gasping on the rock next to him after retching his stomach dry.
"At the rate we've maintained today," I said, "I'd plan on arriving at the pass the day after tomorrow. We'll come down much faster than we ascend, so it'll keep us within the five-day window."
Kimball frowned. "Huh."
I shot Devin a quick glance. Ridges furrowed his brow. I turned back to Kimball, unsure how to read Steve's tense shoulders and Kimball’s contemplative stare. Did Kimball have somewhere to be, or something? Why rush through the hike?
"Will that work?" I asked.
"Should be fine for now." He waved a hand, a frown on his face. "We'll just keep track of time as we go."
"Are you concerned about it?"
"Nah. We're good."
Startled by the strange interaction—and unusual questioning—I turned back to my water bottle and focused on rehydrating. The simple beauty of rustling grass drew my gaze in a momentary distraction from the heavy air.
The trees we'd just trekked out of gave way to a mountain meadow with a few late-spring wildflowers that nodded in a breeze. Beyond those, Nightingale Pass and the two peaks we'd eventually summit loomed in the far horizon as imposing slate sentinels.
"I want to be done for the night," Steve said.
