Page 6 of Liberated By the Logger

As I’m opening my door, I hear a feminine wail on the wind coming down from higher up the mountain. I think nothing of it as I climb into the cab of my truck. The acoustics on this rocky landscape can have the wind playing tricks on you.

I’ve got the truck in drive when I recall something the tree hippy said.

“You can’t cut down this tree or the one up ahead. I made certain of it.”

What did he mean by the tree up ahead? He couldn’t make certain we wouldn’t cut it down. It’s not possible to be in two places at once.

The wail on the wind echoes in my mind like a call for help.

Sonofabitch!

My foot slams down on the brake, jolting me forward in my seat. I throw my truck in reverse before spinning around in the mud and exposed tree roots to head back up the logging road.

Regardless of my conscience not willing to leave a person in a dangerous situation, if there’s another idiot connected to a marked tree, I will lose my shit.

CHAPTER THREE

AMBROSE

What I’m doing is recklessly stupid. No one should drive up a mountain in these conditions. But here I am, too worried about the “what ifs” to stop myself. It’s not a hero complex. More of an “I couldn’t live with myself” conscience if there was some other fool tied to a tree in this weather.

Cursing to myself, I drive as carefully as I can up the muddy—growing more hazardous by the second—logging road. The chains on my tires are the only thing keeping my truck from losing purchase. The wind howls fiercely around the outside of my truck. Branches and leaf debris slam against the windshield, only adding more menace to the risky commute. I take the road as far as I can before it runs out. I’m on foot from here on out.

After donning my rainwear, I climb out of the bed of my truck with the bolt cutters. Tree hippy mentioned the other marked tree further up the mountain. There’s only one other pine this high up that the park rangers marked for removal. With the tree’s location on my GPS, I hike the trail.

The rain is coming down in sheets, drenching everything. Water runs along the rocky landscape, looking more like a shallow, flowing creek than a hiking path. The smell of ozone is thick in the air, sending alarms bells off in my head. If the little hairs that cover my skin suddenly stand at attention, I’m toast. Doesn’t matter if I drop to the ground, cover my head, and lift my backside up in the air, there’s not a dry spot around. Water and electricity don’t mix. It would mean lights out for me.

As if to mock me and stroke my fear, lightning fractures along the rock-strewn mountainside skyline, lighting up the sky for seconds at a crack. As much as I don’t want someone trapped out in these elements, I’m going to be pissed if I made this dangerous trek and find no one by this tree.

Several long minutes pass of me moving upward before the dead Ponderosa comes into view. It looks more like a funeral pyre, ready to go up like a Roman torch at an errant lightning strike. And at the base of the tree, I can discern the dark outline of what appears to be a person.

Concerned about this stranger, I break into a jog. It’s impossible not to be worried about someone out in these harsh conditions. Who knows how long they’ve been stranded. It doesn’t take long for hypothermia to set in if you’re not properly dressed for the weather. These mountains may be beautiful, but they’re not kind to the unprepared.

When I’m closer to the tree, I can see the person is a young woman, soaked through and weary. And just like the moron further down the trail, this poor thing is chained to the trunk, too.

It’s not until I’m standing over her that the tiny woman raises her gaze to mine with eyes greener than the needles of a Douglas fir. Her eyes penetrate me to my core, heating me from the inside stronger than any bolt of lightning ever could. She looks at me with such relief, like I’m her savior. Given the circumstances, I guess I kind of am.

Her hero. It does something in my chest, making my heart pound harder with adrenaline.

Huh. Maybe I have a hero complex after all, at least for her. But damn, I wish I could be more—something permanent. She certainly needs someone looking after her, especially if the fool I cut loose earlier talked her into thinking this was a smart idea.

She sobs, bringing me back to the severity of our situation. “Help!”

My hands are already busy feeling for the lock connecting the chain, frantic to free her. “Don’t you worry, darlin’. I’m gonna get you outta here and some place warm. You keep your eyes open long enough for that to happen, you hear?”

A sad little whimper is the only response she gives.

“Don’t shut down on me. You stay awake.”

When I finally locate the lock, I nearly break my bolt cutters in my haste to remove the damn thing. It takes me a few tries to get a good grip on the cutters to remove the lock—the rain doesn’t help me any—before I free her.

As soon as the chain falls away, the woman is tumbling against me, too weak to hold herself up. I gather her in my arms, her slight frame tucked tight against my chest.

“I’ve got you, darlin’. Stay with me.”

Her green eyes roll around as she looks at me, helpless. It makes me nervous, seeing the precious little thing delirious from her harrowing experience and exposure.

The trek back to my truck will take twice as long carrying her bridal style, but she doesn’t appear to have the strength to hang on for a piggyback ride, nor do I feel okay throwing her across my shoulders in a fireman’s carry. She’s too delicate in her current state to do anything other than hold her in my arms with her face pressed close into the crook of my neck. I do my best to shelter her from the rain and wind, carefully trekking down the trail.