The Lone Man On The Ridge - Episode Three: The Road Down

The moment Jack turns the key and hears that truck come to life, the ridge stops being a refuge and becomes a vantage point he can no longer afford. He has questions he cannot answer from a cabin window, so he heads down the logging road with Mr. Rogers beside him, trading solitude for the raw uncertainty of other people. If you love post apocalyptic fiction podcasts and survival storytelling that stays grounded in practical detail, this chapter is where the world gets bigger and more dangerous. 

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:01

This is the Lone Man on the Ridge, Episode three The Road Down. Jack stood at the edge of his ridge the next morning, staring down the steep slope that led towards the old logging road. The sun was barely up, but he had already been awake for hours. Sleep had been restless, the kind that left him more tired than when he laid down. Mr Roger sat beside him, ears perked, sensing the shift in his human's mood. Jack reached down and scratched Mr. Rogers behind the ears. Well, I guess it's time, boy. We can't sit up here forever and wonder what's left. He'd spent quite a bit of time over the last few days preparing the cabin. Cleaning weapons, checking the perimeter, packing his go bag, and checking out every piece of gear he might need for the trip. Only this morning did he finally hike down to the truck. The trail down took about forty minutes. When he reached the bottom, Jack pulled the camouflage netting off the old F one hundred fifty, revealing the faded green paint that had seen better days. He opened the passenger door for Mr. Rogers, who hopped in like any other day. The engine turned over on its first try. Jack sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, listening to the low rumble. It felt strange, a mechanical noise after weeks of nothing but wind and birds and the occasional bark from mister Rogers. He put the truck in gear and started down the old logging road, the tires crunching over fallen branches and loose gravel. Another five miles down the highway the first people appeared. A small group stood clustered around a broken down SUV on the side of the road. Three men and one woman, all of them looking rough. One of the men waved his arms trying to flag Jack down. Jack slowed the truck but kept his distance, laying the window down just a crack, his left hand rested on the Glock twenty two in his lap. You got any water, man? The tallest one called out. Our car's been dead for two days. Jack studied them very carefully before reaching behind the seat and tossing one of his spare water bottles out the window. Thank you, the woman said, her voice cracking as she snatched it up. Jack asked the question that had been burning in his mind. How bad is Asheville? The tall man shook his head. Bad, real bad. No power for what five weeks now? People are pouring out of the city. The National Guard tried setting up some distribution point downtown, but it got overrun on day twelve. It is every man for himself down there. Jack felt his stomach tighten. Five weeks exactly. Any law left at all? The man gave a bitter laugh. Law? The police station got looted on day four. Ain't seen a uniform in two weeks. The woman stepped closer. Stay off the main roads if you can. There's crews stripping everything that isn't nailed down. Jack thanked him and rolled his window back up. As he pulled away, the tall man called after him, asking for a ride. Jack did not answer. He just kept driving. He watched them shrink into the rear view as he continued down the road. Mr. Rogers let out a low, soft growl. I know, I know. The truck crested a small rise and Jack pulled off onto the side of the road. He killed the engine and sat there for a long time studying Asheville through his binoculars. Thick columns of black smoke rose from several parts of the city. The streets below looked eerily quiet. After watching for nearly twenty minutes he made a decision. He needed more information than just smoke and distant checkpoints. Jack drove to the old Chevron station just off Hendersonville Road, a place he'd stopped many times over the past several years. To his surprise it was actually open. A generator hummed out back and two armed men stood near the front door. A handwritten sign on the glass read Cash or Trade Only, no credit cards. Jack parked off to the side, left Mr. Rogers in the truck, and walked towards the entrance with his hands clearly visible. One of the guards gave him a nod but kept his shotgun ready. Inside the shelves were mostly bare. There were still a few basics. Jack traded a small pouch of his dried venison for two bottles of water and two fresh packs of double A batteries. While he was paying, he struck up a quiet conversation with the older woman behind the counter. How long you been running on a generator? he asked. About three weeks now, she said, keeping her voice kind of low. Owner's gonna try to keep this place going as long as he can. Once the fuel's out, we're done. Jack nodded towards the window. Those checkpoints on the way in, who's running 'em? Some are National Guard, some are just locals who got organized. But I'd stay out of the city if I were you, mister. It's getting ugly in there. Jack thanked her and stepped back outside. He was several feet from his truck when the guard with his shotgun suddenly called out. Hey. Jack turned around. The man lifted his chin towards the F one hundred fifty and said with a straight face, your license plates are expired. There was a beat of dead silence. Then one guard cracked a grin and started laughing. Jack could not help but smile. Good one, Jack said, shaking his head. He climbed back into the truck and started chuckling under his breath. As he started to pull away, he leaned out of the window and called back to the guard. Hey, what the hell happened here anyway? The two guards looked at each other. One of them shrugged and said, Somebody it was said one of them electromagnetobombs or something like that. The other guard looked at Jack and asked bluntly. Does it really matter what happened? Jack thought about it for a moment and gave him a small nod. Nope, I guess not. Thanks, fellas. After leaving the Chevron station, Jack decided he needed to see more. He wasn't done yet. He drove the back roads, avoiding all the main checkpoints. About a mile from the old English supermarket he spotted a familiar hardware store. The same hardware store where he purchased generator parts years ago. He parked two blocks away in an alley and looked over at Mr. Rogers. You ready to stretch your legs, buddy? The dog's ears shot up. Jack didn't need a leash. Those two had been working together since Jack's patrol days. Mr. Rogers knew the drill. They moved like a team. Jack took point, pistol low and ready. Mr. Rogers stayed tight on his left heel, silent and alert, reading every cue from his handler. Inside the shattered hardware store, Jack scanned the ransacked dials while mister Roger swept the corners with his nose. Most of the shelves had been stripped clean, but a few scattered items remained, some bungee cord, a roll of duct tape, and a handful of nails scattered on the floor. As Jack knelt down to grab the duct tape, mister Roger suddenly froze beside him. The dog's whole body went rigid, a deep growl building low in his chest. Jack didn't hesitate. He trusted that growl with his life. A man stepped out behind a shelving unit, mid thirties, hollow cheeks, revolver shaking in his grip. Both men froze. Easy, Jack said calmly. You don't want to do this. Mr. Rogers answered for him, a sharp, vicious bark that echoed through the empty store as he lunged forward a single step, teeth bared. The stranger's eyes went wide with terror. Put it down, Jack ordered. Put it on the ground. Slowly, then back up. The man's hands were trembling so bad that he almost dropped the gun. He quickly set the revolver on the floor and stumbled backwards, palms up.

SPEAKER_00 8:37

Jack kept his tone sturdy and firm. Look, I get it. You're scared. I want you to back away and leave the store. I'm not here to hurt you, and neither is my dog.

SPEAKER_01 8:52

But if either of us perceive you as a danger, the dog will attack. The man gave a jerky nod, reached down, and picked up a small canvas bag at his feet. He then slipped out the back door. Only when his footsteps faded did Jack holster his pistol and walk forward and pick up the rusty thirty eight revolver that had been pointed at him just a moment ago. Jack reached down and rubbed the dog's neck.

SPEAKER_00 9:22

Good boy, you still got it, don't you? mister Rogers gave a small boof, and then leaned into Jack's leg. The same way he'd done on countless patrols.

SPEAKER_01 9:34

When he finally made it back to his property, Jack hid the F one hundred fifty deep into the thicket again, and approached the cabin on foot, taking a wide, careful route. He circled the entire perimeter, checking every single tripwire and camera before unlocking the door. Only when he was back inside did he let out a long breath and set his glock on the table, looked at Mr. Rogers, and spoke quietly. Asheville's worse than I thought, buddy. And those three people we ran off know where we live. Jack walked to the window and stared out over his seventy five acres. The sun was starting to set, painting the ridge in deep oranges and purples. He rested a hand on Mr. Rogers' head, dog leaning into him like he'd done for years.

SPEAKER_00 10:20

Well, buddy, I'm not sure what's gonna happen, but when it happens, we're gonna be ready. This has been The Lone Man on the Ridge, Episode 3 The Road Down.