Forever Flint

“I guess when you put it like that . .” Ashlinn’s voice trailed off.

The thought of attempting to climb over seven thousand feet still did not strike her as child’s play. She pictured rocks and falls and broken bones.

“Glad you’re along to translate for the lady, Flint,” Koji said gratefully.

Ashlinn knew he wasn’t referring to language difficulties, because all the men spoke English fluently. Nor was the lack of understanding between her and her fellow campers the result of typical male/female differences so well-documented in the pop psychology books proliferating on bookstore shelves.

No, she and the four international risk takers were like creatures from separate universes with absolutely no common frame of reference. She found their bold mindset, their casual bravado, so incomprehensible that even small talk posed a difficulty. Since they’d met this morning, she’d invariably said the wrong thing, irking or boring the four happy wanderers.

But as Koji had mentioned, Flint was proving valuable as a translator cum peacemaker, interpreting her to the men and vice versa. Though he hadn’t risked his life on seven continents, somehow, fortunately, he was able to relate both to those who had and to Ashlinn.

“Since she’s offering no fringe benefits, we’re grateful you don’t mind baby-sitting her, Flint,” said Jack Hall in a relieved better-you-than-me tone.

Ashlinn couldn’t let that remark go unchallenged. “That crack about fringe benefits is too low to dignify with a rejoinder, and I don’t need a baby-sitter!”

The four men laughed, as if she’d told a hilarious joke.

“You need a baby-sitter a helluva lot more than we need a guide, chica,” said Rico. “The four of us have had more than enough experience to be on our own in a state park in South Dakota. You can’t say the same.”

More hearty macho laughter. More stories of being held at gunpoint, of drinking snake blood, of bribing their way in and out of the hellholes of the world while loving every minute of it.

Ashlinn leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes, pretending she’d nodded off to sleep. She had already had enough interaction with her campmates. Two whole weeks with them loomed like an eternity.

It seemed ironic that last night, she had been apprehensive about spending the next two weeks with Flint. Who could have guessed that today she would consider him the closest thing she had to a friend and ally?

But it was true. Flint was courteous, treating her as an equal member of the expedition, not an unwelcome pest. The same couldn’t be said for the others in the group.

Ashlinn’s mind drifted back to her meeting with them this morning, after her predawn trip to Paradise Outdoors’ company headquarters with Flint. To the fateful moment when she’d informed the men that she not only wasn’t a good cook, but her campfire cuisine was even worse than her everyday efforts.

“But cooking is what women are created for!” Rico exclaimed, shocked.

Ashlinn had felt obliged to offer a rebuttal. What woman wouldn’t? But Flint had caught her hand, pulling her out of earshot of the group.

“For the sake of congeniality, I recommend just letting that one pass,” he suggested quietly.

“But he just relegated women back to the Stone Age!” objected Ashlinn. “On behalf of women everywhere, I. . .”

“You can talk till you’re hoarse, but you’ll never convince him otherwise. Anyway, the men agreed to do the cooking for themselves,” Flint pointed out. “You won’t be slaving over a hot campfire, except to make your own meals. Can’t you view that as a victory on behalf of women everywhere?”

“I guess so.” Ashlinn was very aware that Flint was still holding her hand. A small shiver rippled along her spine.

“Cooking isn’t the only thing women are good for,” Bouvier had interjected, his eyes raking Ashlinn’s trim blue-jeaned figure. “Don’t forget about sex.”

“As if we ever could!” Jack Hall had laughed rakishly “Maybe you’ll share your tent with one of us, lovely lady? Or all of us, if the gods are smiling”

Ashlinn didn’t know if he was kidding or not but decided to set the record straight right from the beginning.

“The gods aren’t smiling,” she said succinctly. “So don’t bother going through the motions, because you’ve already struck out.”

Only Bouvier didn’t get her baseball metaphor. “I have a can of Mace,” Ashlinn clarified her position for him. “If you try anything with me, I’ll use it on you.”

“So you’ve already made your choice, then?” Koji’s eyes were fixed on her hand linked with Flint’s.

Her face flaming, Ashlinn dropped Flint’s hand. “My choice is to be left alone!”

Just in case they decided to take her literally and abandon her in the wild, she added, “I expect to be treated exactly like any other member of this group. As if I were Asher Carey.”

Rico said something in a language she didn’t recognize and they all laughed. Except Flint. He looked as uncomprehending as she did.

“An old Sinhalese saying,” Koji explained. “Remind us to translate later, Flint.”

Ashlinn guessed the remark was outrageously sexist and dealt with a woman’s place in the most insulting terms. Well, she didn’t want to be here any more than they wanted her along. It was just too bad she was so totally outnumbered. If only Flint’s half sisters hadn’t been so impossible.

As the four men swapped tales of the smugglers’ bazaar in Peshawar, Ashlinn fell into a light fitful sleep that lasted until the van came to a stop.

She opened her eyes to see an enormous buffalo standing a few feet away, staring straight at her. She gasped.

“Bison,” Flint laid his hand on her arm. “Don’t be alarmed. There are about fourteen hundred of them roaming in the park. We’re on Wildlife Loop Road, and they often stop traffic along this stretch.”

Several cars were stopped behind them on the narrow road as a few bison meandered across. More animals were grazing on either side of the road.

“I’ve never seen a live buffalo before,” she said, awed. “Only stuffed ones in museums.”

“I’d like to ride one of those,” enthused Jack Hall. “I’ve ridden camels in Saudi and elephants in India.”

“Haven’t we all?” Figueroa sounded bored.

Ashlinn and Flint caught each other’s eye. “Camels and elephants are so passé,” she imitated Figueroa’s jaded tone. “Riding bison is the latest thrill.”

Flint swallowed a smile. “Riding bison is forbidden,” he informed his charges. “They can be dangerously unpredictable and bad-tempered.”

“With this group, you’re better off saying bison are so tame that even grandmothers find them dull to ride,” Ashlinn murmured. “Nothing seems to excite our fellow campers more than the possibility of breaking every bone in their bodies.”

Flint laughed.

“What’s so funny?” demanded Bouvier.

“Ashlinn just made a—um—a buffalo joke,” Flint said, as they exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

“Your ancestors worshipped the buffalo, didn’t they, Flint?” Koji asked respectfully. “I’ve read a lot about the American Wild West.”

Since Flint had made it clear he was a modern-day workaholic who preferred his office to anywhere else, the Wild West reference struck Ashlinn as particularly absurd. She couldn’t stifle another outburst of laughter.

“Now you’re laughing at Flint’s native culture?” Bouvier’s voice was icy with disapproval.

“No, of course not,” she said quickly. “It’s just that I can’t picture Flint in the Old West era.”

“I can,” said Koji, and launched into an impassioned discourse about the softness of contemporary society and its toxic effect on men. Fortunately, according to him, the five men in the van were immune to this modern-day plague and remained true men’s men; living, breathing tributes to the hardy male wamors who preceded them.