The Lone Man On The Ridge - Episode Nine: A Costly Trade

The road north looks quiet until you start reading the clues: abandoned cars left like traps, exits blocked on purpose, and an armored truck ripped open on the highway with coins still glittering in the grass. We’re riding with Jack and his dog Mr. Rogers as they roll into the outskirts of Johnson City, searching for one simple thing that now feels impossible: a safe place to sleep. 

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Transcript

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This is the Lone Man on the Ridge, Episode 9. A Costly Trade. It was approaching noon, but the sky already had a flat, washed out gray tone to it. Jack kept the truck rolling north at a careful pace. He was not in a hurry. Every mile he took his time scanning the sides of the road, the tree lines, and the overpasses ahead. He wanted to see trouble before trouble saw him. Every so often he flipped onto small ham radio mounted on the dash and slowly scanned through the frequencies. Nothing but static and the occasional ghost of a voice. The road told its own quiet story. Abandoned cars sat scattered along the shoulder. He had to maneuver on a couple of them that had been left in the middle of the lanes. Twice he passed military Humbees parked together like they'd been left in a hurry. Every so often he'd catch movement on an overpass. A truck or car crossing above him, then disappearing from sight. He also noticed several exits where vehicles had been deliberately parked at the bottom of the ramps, completely blocking the path. Further ahead, Jack slowed down and eased the truck around an overturned and looted armored car. The Brink's logo was still visible on the side, faded but unmistakable. The vehicle was riddled with bullet holes, and the heavy back doors had been violently blown open, probably with explosives or cutting torches. A few coins still lay scattered on the pavement and in the grass. Whatever had been inside the armored car was long gone. Jack glanced down at his fuel gauge, just over half of a tank. Almost six weeks, he muttered to Mr. Rogers, six weeks since the lights went out, and this is what we've become. Several minutes later, up ahead in the same lane, Jack spotted a heavily loaded down minivan crawling along, struggling under the weight of its cargo. The roof was piled high with bags, boxes, and what looked like furniture tied down with rope and bungee cords. It looked like a modern day Beverly Hillbilly's rig. As Jack caught up and pulled alongside them, he could see a man behind the wheel, a woman in the passenger seat, and at least four kids crammed in the back surrounded by their belonging. When the kids spotted Mr. Rogers sitting in the passenger seat, they got excited. Jack couldn't read lips, but it was easy to make out. Look, a dog. Mom, look, a dog. One of the little girls started waving enthusiastically at Mr. Rogers.

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Rogers perked up, his tail thumping against the seat. Jack even caught himself smiling, until he locked eyes with the dad behind the wheel. The man gave a long, cold, nervous stare. Their eyes locked for several long seconds. Jack did not wave, he did not smile back. He simply pressed down on the accelerator and pulled ahead, watching the overloaded minivan shrink into his rearview mirror. Everybody's running somewhere, Jack said quietly. Question is, are any of us actually running to something? Not long after that, Jack saw the Johnson City exit coming up and decided to take it. He knew this area well enough before things fell apart. Less than one mile west off one of the main exits sat a Walmart and Lowe's. He figured it was worth a quick look. As he approached, the sight hit him hard. The Lowe's was completely burnt to the ground. Nothing but a blackened skeleton of twisted metal and collapsed roofing. The Walmart parking lot looked like something straight out of a Mad Max movie. School buses and semi trailers had been arranged into a crude, makeshift barricaded wall. A few armed figures patrolled the top of the barricade. Jack slowed down, staring for a long moment. Part of him was curious, but he wasn't stupid. He whipped a quick U-turn and got back on the road heading away from the superstores. He knew of another spot nearby, the Roadrunner Market off Twin Oaks Road. It was one of those classic gas station convenience stores that law enforcement used to call a stop and rob back in the day. Small, isolated, and usually easy pickings. Jack took the turn onto Twin Oaks and approached carefully. He drove a full slow loop around the entire building first, eyes scanning every corner, every window, and every shadow. He detected no movement. No vehicles parked out front, and the pumps were dark and useless as expected. Satisfied for the moment, he pulled around the back of the building and parked the truck out of sight from the main road. He killed the engine and sat there for a minute listening. Mr. Roger suddenly perked up, ears forward and alert. A low, deep growl started rumbling in his chest as he stared intently at the back door. Easy boy, Jack said quietly, placing a hand on the dog's shoulder. Easy. Let's see what we've got here. Jack quietly opened the truck door and stepped out, keeping his eyes locked on the rear entrance of the store. Mr. Rogers hopped out right behind him, still growling low and steady. Stay close, Jack whispered, drawing his glock. He approached the back door which was slightly ajar and pushed it open with his foot. He took a quick look around the back room himself, just long enough to see two sleeping bags on the floor and a small cinder block firing with empty cans and wrappers scattered around. Somebody's definitely been staying here, he muttered. Jack stepped back and looked down at Mr. Rogers. Search. Mr. Rogers immediately went into work mode. The dog moved forward with a purpose, nose to the ground, clearing the back room first, then pushing through the swinging door into the main convenience store area. They moved past the connected Dunkin' Donuts section. The display cases were completely empty. After several tense minutes, mister Roger circled back to Jack and gave him an all clear signal. Jack lowered his pistol slightly. All right, the place is empty for now. But somebody's been living here, and they haven't been gone very long. That's when Mr. Rogers suddenly froze again, ears straight up. A moment later, Jack heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up front. Jack stepped back into the shadows of the store aisle, keeping Mr. Rogers tight beside him. He stayed low and quiet and watching through a gap in the shelves as two people got out of the old, beat up SUV. A man and woman both in their mid thirties walked towards the front. Jack noticed immediately they were not visibly armed. But when they stepped inside, the woman's hand moved quickly towards her jacket pocket. Jack then stepped out of the shadows. The man's eyes locked onto Jack. Who the hell are you? Jack calmly answered. I was getting ready to ask you the same thing. And ma'am, I'd appreciate it if you take your hand out of that pocket real slow. The woman slowly pulled her hand out of her jacket pocket, empty. She raised both hands slightly above her waist to show Jack that she was not holding anything. Easy, she said, her voice calmer than her partner's. We're not looking for any trouble. The man still looked tense, his eyes flickering between Jack's Glock and Mr. Rogers. This is our spot, he said flatly. We've been coming here for weeks. You can't just roll in here and make it your home. Jack kept his posture relaxed, his pistol still in his hand. Well I didn't see your name on the door, Jack replied. I cleared the building, saw the sleeping bags in the back, figured somebody was using this as a crash pad. Just didn't know if they were still here. Jack gave them a long, slow look. You two alone or are there more of you? The woman answered before her partner. Just us. We move around a lot, but we come back here every few days. It's one of the safer spots left around here. She then glanced at the empty shelves and then back at Jack. You don't look like you're from around here. Are you just passing through? The man let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. While you're at it, babe, why don't you just give him our full names, date of birth, and social security numbers too? Jack allowed himself a small, dry smirk at the man's sarcastic comment, but did not lower his guard. Relax, Jack said evenly. If I wanted to rob you, I wouldn't have let you walk into the store. My name is Jack, and this is Mr. Rogers. He finally lowered his Glock, though he kept it in his hand instead of holstering it. Mr. Rogers remained tense at his side. The woman started to speak. I'm Lisa, and this is my husband, Matt. We before she could finish, Matt cut in sharply, staring hard at Jack. What the hell are you even doing here? Jack looked Matt directly into his eyes and answered calmly. I am just passing through. I came up from Asheville, and I'm looking for a safe place to bed down for the night before I get back on the road tomorrow. Matt did not look convinced. He kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest, still studying Jack with clear suspicion. Lisa gave her husband an annoyed look before turning back to Jack. Well, you found it, she said, gesturing around the empty store. This is pretty much the only place around here that has not been completely stripped or taken over. Matt let out a frustrated breath and finally uncrossed his arms. I'm just looking for a safe place to crash for the night. Nothing more, nothing less, said Jack. There was a long pause. Matt broke the silence. Fine, he muttered. You can stay the night, but we sleep in the back room. You stay up here, and your dog better be quiet. Jack gave a small nod. I'll take the old Dunkin' Donut storeroom. That'll keep us out of your way. He paused for a moment then added, I've got three live chickens in the back of my truck. I'll cook breakfast for all of us in the morning. Will that work for a trade? Lisa's eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised. A small smile even broke across her face. Matt looked skeptical at first, but the mention of fresh meat and eggs seemed to do the trick. Chickens? He looked at Lisa, then looked back at Jack. Yeah, that'll work, he finally said, his tone still guarded but noticeably less hostile. Lisa nodded in agreement. Breakfast sounds real good right about now. Jack interrupted. Chickens, eggs. Eggs only. No meat, we're not killing the chickens, eggs only. With the agreement made, the tension in the store finally started to ease a bit. Jack went outside and brought in all three of his chickens, placing them in a large plastic tub he found behind the counter so they wouldn't wander off during the night. Mr. Roger stayed close, keeping an eye on the two strangers. While Lisa started a small controlled fire in the cinder block ring in the back room, Matt stayed mostly quiet, clearly not thrilled about sharing his spot. After the fire was going, Lisa sat down near the flames and looked over at Jack. So you come up from Asheville, huh? Matt, sitting against the wall, cleaning his fingernails with a pocket knife, muttered just loud enough to be heard. Yeah, not many people are stupid enough to travel these days unless they're running from something. He looked up at Jack with a sharp stare. What are you running from, Jack? Jack stared back for a long moment, his expression calm but firm. I don't want to be rude or a bad house guest, but the reason I left Asheville really isn't any of your business. If you're asking whether I'm some ax murderer or escape from state prison, the answer is no. Lisa gave a small nod, accepting Jack's boundary. Fair enough, she said softly. She poked at the fire with a stick for a long moment before looking back up at him. So what's it like out there? she said. You came up Asheville on Route twenty three. What did you see on the road? Jack thought about it for a second, then answered carefully. It's getting bad. I passed an armored car that got shot all to hell was flipped over, doors blown open, coins scattered all over the highway. I saw a family of six crammed into a minivan with everything they own strapped to the roof. He paused, then asked, How bad has it gotten here in Johnson City? Is it really that bad? Matt let out a bitter laugh. Bad, he said. It's falling apart. National Guard pulled out two weeks ago. Now it's whoever's got the most guns that runs this town. Lisa glanced at her husband, then added, There's a group calling themselves the Iron Hands. They've taken over the Walmart. You don't go near there unless you're one of them. Jack nodded slowly, taking in the information about the Iron Hands. Sounds like things are getting organized around here. That's never a good sign. He looked back and forth between Lisa and Matt. So what about your house? Why are you two at home? The question landed heavily. Lisa looked down at the fire for a moment. Matt's jaw tightened. Lisa finally spoke, her voice quieter than before. We were up until about three weeks ago. A group of eight or nine vagrants showed up one night, armed and aggressive. They told us we had twenty minutes to get out of there or they would burn the place down with us inside. The house is theirs now, so now they're squatting in our home, eating our food, sleeping in our beds, and we're sleeping on the floor of an abandoned gas station. Matt stared into the fire, his face hard. That's why we don't stay in one place too long anymore, he added coldly. Trust is expensive these days. Jack leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. What about food? What about gas? You're telling me everything's gone? Lisa shook her head. Gas stations have been dry for weeks. A few places that still had some fuel or propane, the Iron Hands got to them first. They control most of the major supply points around here. If anyone finds gas or a stash of food, word gets back to them fast. Matt let out a low, humorous chuckle. They've got that Walmart up the way turned into their own little fortress. Anybody who wants to trade has to go through them, and their prices ain't cheap. Most people around here are down to eating whatever they can scavenge or grow in their backyard. Lisa looked directly at Jack, her expression serious. That's why seeing these chickens in your truck damn near made my jaw drop. Fresh eggs and meat are almost unheard of anymore. Jack sat quietly for a moment, letting everything he was just told sink in. The picture they painted was not pretty. He finally looked up at them. Sounds like the iron hands pretty much run things around here, he said. You two planning to stay in the area? Are you thinking about moving on? Matt shrugged, his tone carrying that sharp edge. We're surviving. That's the plan, one day at a time. Lisa was quieter for a moment, staring into the small fire. Most people around here are either holed up or constantly moving now, she said. The ones that stayed in their houses are starting to run out of food. The ones on the road, she just shook her head. They're getting more dangerous every week. She looked at Jack. What about you? You said you're heading north. You got a destination in mind or just driving around until something feels right? Before Jack could answer, Matt cut in. Speaking of heading north, you have any gas in that truck of yours you can spare? Maybe five gallons? Jack looked at both of them for a long moment, his expression hardening. I'm not giving away gas, he said. I've got about fifteen gallons left in the tank, and that's it. And that's supposed to get me a couple hundred more miles. So whatever you're thinking about trading, and it is going to be a trade, it better be a damn good offer. The mood in the room shifted immediately. Matt's eyes narrowed, Lisa's hopeful expression faded. Jack continued, his voice low and serious. Five gallons right now is a lot to me. That's about a hundred miles or so. So if you want me to give that up, you're gonna have to make it worth my while. Lisa glanced at Matt, then back at Jack. We can give you detailed routes, she said. Not just avoid this road. We can tell you exactly where the iron hands have people posted, what times they move, and which backroads you can take to completely avoid them. We've been running these roads for weeks. Matt leaned forward, his voice dropping. We can also tell you where there's a guy about forty miles north of here who's still got a working fuel pump hidden behind his barn, if you know how to talk to him. Jack sat back, studying both of them very carefully, his face unreadable. He did not answer right away. Jack continued to set quiet, doing the math in his head. Fifteen gallons at roughly twenty miles per gallon. That gas was his lifeline. He finally broke the silence. Again, fifteen gallons gets me about three hundred miles, he said. That's everything I've got to work with. So I'll be straight up. I'm not giving you five gallons. That's way too much. Matt's face tightened, but before he could speak, Jack continued. I'll give you two gallons, that's all. In exchange, I want to know everything that you know about the roads going north. Every checkpoint, every patrol route, every safe place to stop, and everything you know about this guy with the hidden fuel pump. Jack looked back and forth between them, his expression hard. Two gallons is my final offer, take it or leave it. After a few ten seconds, he finally spoke. Three, he countered. Give us three gallons and we've got a deal. Jack met Matt's gaze for a long moment, weighing the offer. Jack continued to hold Matt's stare for about fifteen seconds, then gave a single nod. Three gallons, he said. We'll do it in the morning before I leave. Matt gave a satisfied grunt and leaned back against the wall. Lisa looked visibly relieved that the tension had finally broken. Jack stood up and stretched his back. All right, he said. I'm gonna go unload some of my gear from the truck and bring it inside. I'm not comfortable leaving everything out there overnight. Lisa nodded. Smart move. We'll keep the fire on low. Jack looked down at Mr. Rogers. Come on, boy. Jack grabbed his flashlight and headed towards the back door with mister Rogers following close behind. Jack sat down the last tub and straightened up. That's when his eyes dropped to Matt's feet. The man was wearing a pair of high end tactical boots. Black, barely broken in, with clean, aggressive tread. They looked expensive. They looked new. Jack felt ice run down his spine. How the hell did I miss that? he cursed himself. These are not the boots of a man who's been bouncing between gas stations and sleeping on dirty floors for weeks. Not even close. His mind raced back to the conversation. He clearly told them too much. That he came from Asheville, he had chickens, he still had gas, and that he was heading north. He had given these two complete strangers way too much information, and now he was stuck here with them for the night. Jack slowly looked back at Matt and Lisa sitting by the fire. They were both watching him. And for the first time since they walked through that door, Jack realized he might have walked into something he shouldn't have. This has been the Lone Man on the Ridge, Episode 9, A Costly Trade.