2
Ace
“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 i
gnore 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.
3
Razor
Crunch, puff, crunch, puff, crunch!
The only noise is the snow breaking beneath our feet and our warm breath hitting the frosty air in heavy clouds. Not as heavy as the ones dropping more of the white stuff on us now. With two miles to walk, the initial endorphin rush of racing toward a plane crash and extracting a survivor has almost worn off.
Now I’m just left wondering about who she is. Where was she going? How is it that a gorgeous woman just fell from the sky, almost literally into our laps? It feels easier to focus on that right now, to give her a story, to focus on her beauty rather than to think about her possible death.
Giving people stories is kinda my thing. Ever since foster care, I spent hours making up tall tales for just about everyone I met. I even had a couple nice fairy tales about the amazing family that would one day adopt me. How they could never have kids, but always wanted a son. Then, one day, they went through the system and found me. The instant they laid eyes on my blue sparklers and cute freckles, they knew I was the one.
Of course, the process of being adopted took like a day or two in my head, not like the endless red tape that it really is. Next thing I knew, I would be at their mansion, swimming in the in-ground pool and eating all the candy I could stomach. I wasn’t a monster, I didn’t imagine leaving my bud Ace, or as I knew him back then—Adam—behind. Sure, in my story he wasn’t adopted by the same people. I wanted to have some parents all to myself. But, he did get taken in by the family that lived right next door. So, we still got to hang out on the daily. We just got to dress better and sleep in our own rooms at night.
Yep, stories have always been my thing. I guess they help me process the craziness of life. Or, as my military shrink told me before Ace and I retired, I use them as a “coping mechanism.” Whatever that means. The way I see it, you can let the ugliness of reality destroy you, or you can play with the details a bit in your mind and make it a little easier to manage.
And right now, the detail I don’t want to face is the fact that this stunning woman that dropped from the heavens might be heading back there as an angel. I blink the idea away. There’s no point in focusing on that. Right now, she’s breathing and alive and that’s how I intend to keep her.
Getting lost in a story has helped again, because we’re already home. If I would’ve spent that whole time worrying, it would have felt like a much longer walk. Gunnar drags the sled to the front of our cabin and comes to a halt. Ace and I immediately rush to the nameless woman and start unburying her from the blankets we piled her under.
“I’ve got her feet.” Ace’s gray eyes are almost black as worry etches over his face.
“Give me a sec, I don’t want to move her neck around too much,” I caution him and wrap my arms around her to keep her safe from making a potential injury worse. “Okay, I’ve got her. On three. One, two, three!” Ace and I lift her carefully and shuffle to the front door as Gunnar patiently waits, still strapped into his harness.
Ace manages to fumble with the door without dropping the woman’s legs and it swings open into our cold, dark house. We left at dawn and had a fire roaring to keep the place from freezing up, but as we carry the survivor inside, I can see there’s barely a few coals remaining in the stove.
“Let’s put her on my bed, that will keep her back and neck straight,” I instruct my oldest friend.
Not that I really have to. He and I have been together since we were seven. After growing up in the system, we went through basic together and even did a few stints on the same ship together back when we were in the navy. I still remember when I told him I needed more. That the navy was good, but I felt like my calling was bigger than that.
When I told him about my plan to join the SEALs, Ace didn’t laugh or try to discourage me. He was solemn. “We’ll do it together,” he answered. Like, as if I said I wanted to try out for the navy football team instead of head off for the grueling BUD/s training. He didn’t blink, he was solid in his resolve to go with me. But then, we always went through everything together, we shared a room in foster care, worked on a newspaper route together, went to the same school, worked some crappy fast food jobs as teens and then signed up for the navy together. In a world where no one gave us a damned thing, we gave each other loyalty. We were there for each other. We were the only constant in each other’s lives. The only person I’ve been able to rely on since childhood has been Ace, and him me.
Ace lets me take the lead, guiding the woman through my bedroom door and we place her on the bed softly. I watch her for some kind of sign, for any groan or grimace that would give me a sense that she’s close to consciousness, but there’s nothing.
That’s not good.
“All right, I’m gonna check her over and get her bandaged up.” I nod to Ace.
“Got it, I’ll grab Gunnar and radio out for help.” He glances down at the lady lying on my bed. For a moment we both stare at her, I don’t need to talk to him to know he’s just as worried about her fate as I am. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to try to drive her to Fairbanks in the truck. She might have internal bleeding or her spine might be fractured, right?”
He’s right. The best thing for her welfare is to be airlifted straight to the hospital. Our old beater is nice to have, it keeps us tied to civilization and helps us do supply runs, however, it’s not a smooth ride on the nicest days.
“I think calling for help makes the most sense,” I agree with him and Ace suddenly turns and leaves my room, breaking the silence.
I follow behind him, heading over to the bathroom to grab a first aid kit. I pluck the bright orange mini-suitcase from under the sink and bring it back to my room. Some people would think this professional grade kit is too much, but I spent too many years with the SEALs as a combat medic to ever accept those simple first aid kits with a few Band-Aids and a tensor bandage in them. Real emergencies call for real gear, and out here in the Alaskan wilderness, a real emergency can mean a real death.
Let’s hope that’s not the case today.
I slowly check the mystery woman over, patting her over and checking for broken bones and blood. However, there’s no signs of either. When I tug her eyelid open, her pupils dilate fine, and her breathing is shallow but steady. Still, she’s pale and it’s not hard to see where she bumped her head. The purplish-blue knot is already growing on her forehead.
I toss her coat and boots to the side of my room and it occurs to me to get her little suitcase and make sure there isn’t any clues in there about why the plane crashed. Grabbing the bag from the other room, I scurry back to the bed and unzip the cover to her black carry-on. I rifle through all the pockets and turn it inside out, but there’s nothing like insulin or medication that could possibly explain her state.
Sighing, I turn my attention back to the nameless beauty. Her ribs are trickling blood through her torn shirt and she has a surface wound on her upper thigh. I focus on those, determined to help her. I refuse to surrender to this helpless feeling rising up inside me. I might not be able to wake her up, but I’ll still take the best possible care of her.
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nbsp; I carefully remove her dirty, blood-stained clothes and tend to her wounds. Luckily the shredded fabric from what she was wearing isn’t buried in her cuts. They’re pretty minor and it doesn’t take long to disinfect them and get her bandaged up. She’s only in her bra and underwear, so I give her a quick once over to make sure I don’t see any bones twisted under her skin or puncture wounds down the back side of her.
Nothing.
Thank God for that. I start to tuck her in under my blankets so she’ll be comfortable, but realize that waking up in her underwear might be a bit jarring. Glancing back at her suitcase, I spot a night gown. That will do. I manage to get it over her head and slide her arms into it, easing it down over her belly, then her hips, until she’s completely covered. Now I can tuck her in.
Finally, after a whole lot of struggle to keep her head from jostling too much or anything like that, I get her settled in. She looks like a sleeping beauty, lying on my pillow and waiting for a magic kiss to wake her up. I study her face, the way her dark hair frames her rounded cheeks and angular jawline. It’s easy to see that she’s breathtaking. I’d have to be blind to miss it. My eyes glide over her, for a moment, I’m lost in the beauty in my bed. What is her real story? I let myself travel to an alternate universe for a second, one where she sits up and smiles at me. One where her eyes are crystal clear and her injuries have disappeared and she gives me a look when she whispers about how she’s not sure how she could ever repay me for saving her life. One where I join her in that bed and we both toss our remaining clothing to the floor…
I hear the crackle of the ham radio in the other room and it snaps me back to reality. What is it about her? Is it just the isolation of living up here with Ace that’s got me all worked up? Maybe it was his talk about picking up chicks in Hawaii earlier that played with my head.
Night Time Rendez-Vous: 3 sizzling novellas that will keep you up all night Page 52