A caravan of logging trucks roared down the dirt road in the pre-dawn redwood forest toward the Grove of the Ancients. A half-mile ahead, pine branches camouflaged in dirt lay across the road. The empty loading truck in the lead roared toward the spot. The driver detected what looked like a hump of dirt but assessed it would be no problem and didn’t check his speed. No sooner did he hit it, but the truck crashed into the three-foot ditch with a bang that reverberated through the forest. The front axle broke and the driver slammed against his seatbelt so hard it scored his chest.
“Goddamn!” the driver shouted as steam and acrid smoke filled the cab.
The truck behind him slammed on the breaks and its rear end swung around and slammed into the first truck in a cloud of burnt rubber.
“f****
