“See, Adam?” Gramps burned the plastic fish bait with his lighter until it melted a bit at the spot where it snapped in half.

I nodded, watching closely as he stuck the two halves back together, holding them for a moment before tossing it my way.

“Now that’s just as strong as if it never broke at all. A penny saved, right?”

“Right.” I smiled up at the old man and he tousled my golden hair. He looked so impossibly tall. At five everyone towered over me, but my grandfather was the tallest of them all. To me, he was a giant.

I snap the lid to my Zippo shut, extinguishing the flame, and press two broken halves of my fake grub back together, just like Gramps taught me. A shiver runs through me and I squint off into the distance.

How is it that we always think ghosts stay put? If you believe in that sort of thing, we have this idea that ghosts stay put wherever they died. Of course, that’s complete and utter bullshit. I learned with my grandfather and then again with the SEALs that they’re always wandering around in the background of our lives, oblivious to the fact that they aren’t home anymore.

The idea of haunted castles and houses is kid stuff. Just scary stories to tell around a campfire with your friends to freak them out before bed. Not reality. In real life, it’s not places that get haunted, it’s people. And it doesn’t matter where they go or how far they run, those ghosts just follow them. They compete for attention, flitting around just outside your line of vision, where you can feel them more than see them. Nowhere does that feel truer than out here in the Alaskan wild. This place, full of people who fled their lives and usually never for a happy reason, must have more ghosts roaming the dry, icy patches out there than just about anywhere on earth. Hell, my ghosts alone keep it pretty busy here.

“Man, you are so cheap! Just grab a new one,” Razor calls out to me, interrupting my thoughts, but I just shake my head.

“Hey now, a penny saved, right?”

“I guess.” He shrugs. “Someday you’ll have to tell me your big plans for all those pennies,” he mocks me.

“I’m saving up for a big trip, and you ain’t invited now that you’re calling me cheap.”

“Oh yeah? Where you think you’re gonna go?” His half-cocked smile tells me he doesn’t believe a word of my bullshit.

He’s right not to.

“I dunno, someplace warm. Maybe Hawaii.” I secure the bait back onto my hook and get ready to head back over to the fishing hole. “Gotta save my pennies so I can offer to buy a pretty girl some drinks, oh, and one of those Hawaiian shirts the guys wear too.” I grin.

“Oh yeah, for sure man. You’ll have every chick in Hawaii drooling if you wear one of those.” He snickers.

“That’s what I figure.” I smirk. “Anyway, I was going to save up enough for you to come along. Maybe even enough to get you one of those shirts too, but now I’m going to go it alone.” I walk back to his side.

“Well, someone’s got to look after Gunnar, don’t they, boy?” Razor calls over to our huge Newfoundland dog. He lifts his heavy head from the snow and wags his tail a bit but plops it back down when he sees that we’re just shooting the shit and there’s no treat in any of this for him.

“True.” I walk over and give our big pup a scratch behind the ears. “Besides, I don’t need you cramping my style with the ladies anyway.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope there’s a lot more of them in Hawaii than here.” Razor waves at the eternal frost and ice.

I study the landscape, remembering how when we first moved up here after leaving the SEALs, it nearly broke my mind to see so much white, endless snow in one place. It just went on as far as the eye could see, and then even further than that. I guess it struck me as enormous and unending, like space, like time, like the pain of loss—my gaze flickers from the overwhelming snow to Razor—or like the love you have for a brother you were never born with, but that you chose.

“Holy shit! Look at that.” Razor points behind my head and I smirk.

“I’m not falling for that one, come on you can do better than that,” I scoff and push his hand down.

As if I’m dumb enough to fall for the whole “look over there” bit. Just another dumb trick guys play on each other when they’re bored. And, judging for how little fish this trip has net us, boredom is definitely a struggle.

“No, seriously,” he tries again. I roll my eyes, but Razor shoves my shoulder and I scuff around in time to see metal hurling down toward the snow.

It takes too much blinking and too much thinking to figure out that what I’m witnessing is a plane crash. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything like this, combat was a couple years back now, and this tiny Cessna falling from the sky just looks so foreign out here.

Snow explodes from the where the plane hurls into the ground in a sparkling, cold mushroom cloud. The way it hangs in the air, glittering, it would almost be beautiful if it wasn’t a symbol of death and destruction. Gunnar leaps to his feet and barks loudly before heading off in the direction of the danger.

“Fuck, let’s go.” Rushing over to our sled, I drop my rod on it.

Razor grabs the harness Gunnar abandoned while I collect our other gear quickly. He begins hauling it over the crystalized, icy field.

With an armful of the stuff we left behind, I catch up with the sled and toss it down before running to the front to help him pull the load. Gunnar is leading the charge ahead of us, guiding us straight to the crash site. Luckily, it’s not too far off, although I’m skeptical that anyone could have survived.

We close in on the debris and I steel myself for the carnage. The plane has pretty much been obliterated. It looks like it took a missile hit. Still, the cockpit looks intact, even if it’s not protected by a windshield anymore, and we can see a body still strapped in. It’s slumped over and not moving, just hanging forward as the shoulder harness holds it still.

Razor runs into action, just like he did a million times overseas. His medic training has come in handy for countless cuts and burns since we moved up here, but this is the first time he’ll really be tested with an emergency of this magnitude since we retired.

“Gunnar, sit,” I command our giant, furry friend and he listens obediently. I know it’s his instinct to help in any way possible, but I don’t know if fuel is leaking or if a fire is going to erupt from what’s left of the engine. I can’t risk it. He gives an annoyed bark in protest, his way of telling me he’s not happy about being left out of this, but I ignore it and move to help Razor.

“She’s alive!” he yells as a I approach. Two thoughts battle it out in my brain. The first is, how the fuck can anyone survive this? The second, I’m ashamed to admit is: she?

I tug my knife free from my belt and he helps me cut the passenger loose and then together we yank her free from the wreckage. Her coat is open and her curvy body is exposed to the brutal wind whipping around us. Under my parka, it doesn’t faze me, but a long shiver runs through me as I imagine how painful the elements would feel if I were exposed.

“Get her zipped up and covered up, I’m going to grab her stuff,” I yell and Razor nods.

He gingerly picks her up and carries her to the sled and I turn my back to them, focusing on grabbing everything and anything I can. A couple of bags is all I manage to salvage. I drop them by my sides and rush over to the radio console I see ripped off about five feet away. Grabbing the handset in my palm, I push the button, but there’s nothing. It’s completely dead. I knew that, logically, before I even tried, but the seriousness of this situation made me hope for the impossible.

I jog back to the remains of the plane and grab the woman’s bags before heading over to the sled.

“Is that it?” Razor nods to my hands.

“Yep. Here, lemme give you a hand securing her.” I lift her feet and Razor takes her head and shoulders. We lie her on the long sled and cover her up until only her face is exposed. It’s impossible to ignore her beauty. Her round cheeks are rosy and her pouty lips are so full, so pink, so… hypnotic.

“Ready?”

I blink as I snap out of my daze. Shame splashes over me and I refuse to look at her again. The last thing I should be thinking about is how gorgeous she is.

“Ready,” I answer.

“Come here, Gunnar,” he calls out to our dog.

The big black dog springs to action, immediately running over and standing tall as we strap his harness onto him. We don’t have a huge sled team, but we don’t need one. A dog the size of Gunnar is always enough. Razor and I march alongside the sled as Gunnar pulls her in the direction of our cabin a couple miles off. We’re both walking in grim silence and both stealing glances down at the woman that we’re now responsible for.

She’s alive.

Now, here’s hoping we can keep her that way.