A few more twists and the truck let out a beast of a moan. It now lay off the ground by a foot. The formerly compressed grass unwrinkled towards the sky.

Matt paused, trying to hear anything. Had he alerted it? Nope. Just crickets and frogs.

More twists and the jack extended like the neck of a turtle. The roof of the truck was now two feet off the ground, tilted in the direction he wanted. He paused again, holding his breath, perking his ears. Nothing.

You better hurry, the little voice said. How long do you think that’s going to hold?

The jack began sinking into the soil. Then the top of the jack began to wobble under the weight.

Shit!

Matt ran around the truck to the thick rope, flashlight beam erratic on the grass. The aspen with winding rope looked like one of those haunted spook trails his mother used to take him to on Halloween. He expected something to jump out at him—something bloody and nasty looking.

Oh no, we don’t get that treatment here, the little voice said. We get the super special no-see-um.

Matt picked up the end of the rope and walked backwards towards his tilted truck. The rope tightened around the aspen as dust particles puffed out from the bark. He pulled, drawing the rope tighter. Then he reached up and flipped off the switch on his headlamp, just in case. He could feel the Being to the north, resting.

You two have spent some time together, the little voice said. Maybe it’s similar to when you get married. You can feel things after a while. Patterns, behavior.

“Time for a divorce,” he said.

Matt lurched back with everything he had, blood rushing to the scrapes and bruises on his body. His boots dug into the grassy soil and his face reddened. The truck moaned behind him like a submarine diving into deep fathoms. He waited for the sound of tires hitting ground but it never came.

Don’t let that thing fall back, Matthew! the little voice said. Let the rope down easy if you have to.

After slipping on a pair of gloves to protect his blistered hands, Matt inspected the truck. The jack stood strong, sinking into the grass an inch or so but nothing problematic. With the jack stable, Matt limped up to the leaning post and then downhill to the wall of vegetation. A moment later he powered on his Canon S2. A sly grin crossed his face. It was oh-so nice to play offense for a change. He quickly turned the volume full blast and left the camera on an alder branch.

Back near his truck, he wrapped the rope around his waist and walked past the aspen tree to the north, causing the rope to go limp and slide down the trunk.

What are you doing, Matthew? the little voice asked. You don’t have time to waste!