Page 24 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
So, all in all then… is it any wonder that my head is spinning like a top, and I'm as confused as hell?
Two years ago, almost to the day, I joined Kill Climate Change.
Of course, I'd always had an interest in ecology and environmentalism. It was taught at school, and it was obvious to anyone with a shred of sense that climate change was one of the most pressing issues of our time. We owe it not just to ourselves but to future generations to take action.
But then one day, a man named Tim Collier came to my college to give a lecture about illegal logging happening in America’s own national forests. My friend Julia and I went—if I’m honest, as much to see if there’d be any cute guys as for the cause itself.
Turned out Tim was an incredible orator. Knowledgeable, confident, passionate. He didn’t just talk—he commanded. He knew how to wrap emotion around facts until you couldn’t look away. His stories of corrupt politicians and greedy logging companies weren’t about some faraway jungle in South America or Africa. No, these were happening right here in the United States. Right here in our own state-run national parks. His words appalled me. Shocked me. Infuriated me.
And because Daddy’s wealthy, I didn’t really have to worry about money. So after the lecture, I walked right up to Tim, introduced myself, and asked how I could get involved. That was two years ago, and since then I haven’t looked back.
I dropped out of college. Dyed my hair pink. Changed my name from Laura Wilder to Luna Wildchild. I started taking part in direct actions with Kill Climate Change. Daddy blew his top when I quit college—Mommy too, though she was quieter about it. But honestly? Who cares? Daddy’s just like all the other CEOs and senior executives out there, obsessed with lining theirpockets while the world burns. Business Administration? Please. Who the hell wants to study that?
This latest mission was different, though. This was a test. Tim had trusted me with a very important role. The plan was simple: I’d meet another activist, Randy Jessup, at a hotel in Portland that Tim had arranged. From there, Randy and I would travel covertly to the McKenzie Forestry Services logging camp. Once there, we’d each scale one of the walkways in the trees and hang a banner—mine and his—so that at dawn the next day the forest would bear our message loud and clear.
We were the advance party, just the two of us. The next morning, Tim would swoop in by helicopter with a media crew. They’d film everything—us unfurling the banners, the loggers looking on helplessly—and broadcast it everywhere. It would be powerful. Memorable. A rallying cry to the world that illegal and destructive logging was happening right here in America.
But Tim hadn’t counted on the storm.
That night, the mother of all storms blew in. Even now, almost a week later, the devastation has left me isolated, stranded, and cut off from Kill Climate Change. And Randy? God knows what happened to him. He never showed up at the SleepEZ Hotel in Portland.
And the more I think about it, the less I believe the storm was to blame for my fall.
Because here’s the thing: the walkway didn’t collapse during the height of the storm. There was no lightning strike. No giant tree smashing down onto it. It happened earlier—before the wind had even reached its full strength.
I keep replaying it in my head: that eerie, sinking sensation as the planks gave way beneath my feet. One moment, I was stepping forward, adjusting the banner. The next—wham—the whole structure splintered and dropped out from under me, sending me and the banner plummeting to the ground.
After that, everything goes hazy.
The outside door slams, and Toby appears.
I'm sitting in the kitchen, nursing my second and final cup of coffee and doing my best to stay cheerful.
"Hi, gorgeous. Need a freshen up?" He indicates the coffee pot he’s pouring from, but I shake my head.
"Thanks, Toby, but this is my second. Any more and I’ll be running to the bathroom all morning."
He shrugs. "Fair enough."
"Hey, is there any news on the cellphone situation yet?"
It's embarrassing to admit it even to myself, but I've asked this same, stupid question probably three or four times a day. The thing is, I’m going crazy here with no outside contact. No Internet. No phone calls. No texts. No WhatsApp. Nothing. I can’t even tell my friends or my parents that I’m safe. God alone knows what they’re going through, wondering if I’m alive or dead. The same goes for Tim Collier. For what feels like the millionth time, I ask myself whether Collier had canceled, or indeed whether the helicopter company itself had vetoed the trip, given the high winds and relative dangers of these abnormal flying conditions.
Surely no sane person would have flown in that type of weather?
Toby finishes pouring his coffee and drops into the chair beside me.
"Nothing firm yet," he says. "But the newsreader on GKYL Radio said he’d heard they were aiming to get the cell system back up and running for the whole area within the next three days."
"Three days? Another three whole days without civilization? I’m not sure I can make it."
Toby laughs. "Guess you’ll just have to find a way, Princess."
"Fuck off."
He laughs again. That’s Toby for you. Oh well… there are worse traits than always being able to find the funny side of every situation, I guess.
"You mope about too much," he says. "Why don’t you come with me and Luke this afternoon? We’re going to clear the area around where Luke found you. There are still some trees half down, and we want to make sure it’s all safe."
