“Help!” he gasped, but the word was carried away on the wind. He tried again, this time grabbing hold of the trunk, or at least what was left of it at this height, and took a deep breath. “Help me!” he screamed. “Help me get down from here!”

There was movement on the ground, and voices shouting: “Hold on!” and “Hang in there!”

Tyler Allen Ceballo did as they instructed, tightening his grip on the tree and vowing not to let go until he knew he was safe.

And while he waited, he made a promise…to himself, and maybe even to God. “If I make it down alive,” he whispered, “my next job will be in an office, sitting behind a desk made of plastic and steel.”

* * *

It took four hours, but the logging crew eventually managed to lower Tyler Allen Ceballo back down to earth, alive. Although he was strapped into a basket, when he reached the ground it was obvious that he was trembling. It was possible he was cold, but there was the distinct look of fear in his eyes, as if he’d seen a ghost…or even an angry spirit.

“I’m out of here,” he mumbled.

“What?” asked Willem.

“What’d he say?” echoed Brian McAteer.

“He said he’s out of here,” a nearby protester answered.

“He wants to go home…” someone else said.

“…to his mama,” added another.

A round of laughter coursed through the crowd.

Willem got down on his knees and leaned forward so his ear was close to Ceballo’s mouth and he could more clearly hear what the man had to say. “What did you say?” he asked.

“I’m…” Ceballo said, then swallowed. “I’m out of here.”

“Yeah, we got you down. You’re gonna be all right.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I want out…of the forest. Too dangerous here.”

Willem straightened up and looked around as if he were having trouble believing what he was hearing. It sounded like they were going to pull out of this site.

Ceballo took a deep breath. “There are monsters here!”

“Yeah,” came a voice from the crowd. “And they work for Conservco.”

“No,” Ceballo shook his head. “There are creatures in the forest here.”

“Don’t you mean spirits?”

This time the voice didn’t belong to a nameless, faceless protester. The words came from Willie Greene. Greene stepped forward until he towered over Ceballo, still strapped to the rescue basket.

“Monsters, creatures, spirits…” He shook his head again as if to rid himself of the nightmare images playing upon his mind. “Call them whatever you like. I don’t know what the hell they were, I just want out.”

“So you’ll be moving on?” Willie’s voice was calm, without a hint of emotion.

“I don’t know what they’ll be doing. All I know is, I’ll be getting out of the lumber game.”