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Chapter 6: The Long Climb

Getting out of that deep canyon was a terrible, agonizing challenge.

I used a rope and pulley system. I anchored the rope to my own belt. I dragged Hannah’s body up the icy, slippery slope inch by agonizing inch.

Ghost climbed right beside us. Whenever I struggled, the massive dog grabbed the thick rope in his strong jaws. He pulled backward, offering his immense physical strength to help the tired old man.

By the time we finally reached the top of the cliff, the sky in the east was beginning to turn a pale, bruised purple. The storm was finally breaking. The wind slowed down.

I carried Hannah on my back for the final mile. My knees felt like they were full of shattered glass. My lungs tasted like blood. But I did not stop walking. I couldn’t.

When the shape of my fire lookout tower finally appeared through the clearing snow, I almost collapsed with pure relief.

We reached the cabin. The front door was still broken. Snow had blown across my living room floor. I carried Hannah inside. I placed her gently on the soft couch, and I immediately went to work.

I rebuilt the fire. I added wood until the iron stove radiated an intense, life-saving heat into the room. I wrapped her in three heavy winter blankets. I boiled water to make hot broth.

Only when Hannah’s violent shivering finally stopped, and a faint, healthy pink color returned to her pale cheeks, did I finally let myself breathe.

I sat down heavily in my leather armchair. I rested my tired head in my hands. I was completely drained.

Suddenly, a wet, cold nose nudged my hand.

I looked up. The massive wolf-dog, Ghost, was standing right beside my chair. The beast was totally exhausted. He was covered in snow and ice. The cut on his side was still bleeding slowly.

I did not reach for my hunting rifle. I reached out with a trembling, scarred hand. I gently rested my palm on the massive, scary head of the wolf-dog.

Ghost let out a soft, happy sigh. He leaned his heavy weight against my leg, seeking the warmth of the fire.

“You are a very good boy,” I choked out. The tears finally spilled over my eyelashes. “You are the bravest damn thing I have ever seen.”

Chapter 7: The New Partner

The rescue helicopters arrived three hours later. They easily navigated by the bright red smoke of the emergency flare I fired into the clear, blue morning sky.

The paramedics loaded Hannah onto a medical stretcher. They were absolutely amazed at how she had survived a whole night in twenty-below temperatures with a broken bone.

As they loaded her into the helicopter, Hannah reached out. She grabbed my sleeve tightly.

“Dad,” she said. Her voice was clear, and that old, stubborn fire had returned to her eyes. “Do not let anyone shoot my dog.”

I looked over my shoulder. The massive wolf-dog was sitting obediently on the porch of the cabin. He was watching the noisy helicopter with mild, calm irritation.

“Nobody is touching that dog, Hannah,” I promised, squeezing her hand firmly. “He is family now.”

That was two years ago.

The abandoned fire lookout tower isn’t so isolated anymore.

Hannah recovered fully from her injuries. She walks with a slight limp when the weather gets too cold, but it doesn’t stop her. She still runs complex missions with the elite Search and Rescue team. But now, she does not run alone.

By her side, wearing a custom-fitted, bright orange tactical harness, is a 140-pound wolf-dog hybrid.

Ghost is officially the largest, most intimidating, and most highly effective tracking dog in the entire history of the county. The angry farmers and hunters who once wanted to shoot him for bounty money now respectfully step off the trail when he passes by.

And me?

I finally moved down the mountain. I bought a small, warm cabin in the valley, much closer to town. Closer to my daughter.

I learned that the mountain is a beautiful, terrible place. Surviving it isn’t about how tough or isolated you are. It is about who you have standing beside you when the storm finally hits.

Every Sunday evening, Hannah and Ghost come over to my house for dinner. And every Sunday, when the massive, terrifying wolf-dog walks through my front door, I do not reach for a rifle.

I reach for a steak.

Because sometimes, the scary monsters hiding in the dark are just waiting for someone brave enough to let them into the light.

THE END