The Road

by Lance K Ewing

  “What then?” asked Joy. “You tax us again on the other side at the bottom?”

  “No, ma’am. A deal is a deal, all the way through. I’ve got the same barrier on that end for folks wanting to come this way. The good thing is that once we are agreed, you get a lifetime pass.”

  “Pass to what?” asked Tina.

  “You can come over the pass front to back or back to front, free of charge, after your initial ‘tax,’ as you call it,” the old man replied. “Beyond our pass is anyone’s guess, but most other roads have multiple detours you could get those trailers across,” he added, pointing to our caravan.

  “Do you really think you have more firepower than we do?” he asked, as more of a casual question.

  “I guarantee it,” chimed in Nancy.

  Mike stood stone-cold and didn’t speak. He looks like one of those English Palace guards, thought Joy. The kind people try to mess with, but really shouldn’t.

  “Okay, sir,” said Joy. “What’s the price for safe crossing?”

  “Well, ma’am. That depends.”

  “What’s the price?” asked Mike, talking low and slow, making the ladies and the older man uneasy.

  “What are you offering?” the man asked, now with a slight quiver in his voice.

  Mike looked at Joy, gesturing with his hand to continue.

  “Two handguns, brand-new in the box, one 9mm and one 40 Cal with 50 rounds of ball for each,” she stated.

  “Where did you get guns in a box?” the old man asked. “Never mind,” he added, withdrawing the question as he looked at Mike staring a hole through him.

  “Let me think on it just a minute,” he said, disappearing behind the barricade.

  Coming back around, he asked Mike if he could get 100 rounds for each handgun. Mike nodded to Joy to answer.

  “75 rounds for each and guaranteed safe passage up and down the pass. We’ll be at the top for a few days, before heading down the other side. If you don’t fulfill your end of the deal on either side of the pass, or I hear any more sexist comments from your guys, your little tourist trap here is done. Are we understood, sir?”

  Mike couldn’t help but smile at the negotiations.

  “That’s my girl,” I whispered to Jake.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the old man answered reluctantly.

  “You heard the lady,” he called up to his guys. “Not a word or you’ll be dealing with this guy,” he called out, gesturing to a once again stone-cold Mike.

  There was some whispering from the men on the barracks but it was inaudible.

  Tina returned to the caravan to retrieve the passage items.

  Heading back to the vehicles, Joy gave me a wink and Mike was laughing again.

  With payments made, a few trucks were moved aside, allowing for the caravan to pass easily through.

  “We’re looking at a 6% grade over the pass,” announced Lonnie over the radio, as he and Mike resumed driver positions.

  “Low gear on all vehicles,” he continued. “We should be the only group on this road, at least up to the turnoff just before the Colorado border.”

  “Let’s take it slow and steady,” called Jake, “and all radios on, in case there are any issues.”

  Single file, we headed up the pass. Jake and I were on the lead trailer with the dogs, and Steve with Jim on the back one. The children reluctantly rode inside the vehicles.

  “We’re headed up to 7800 feet above sea level,” called Lonnie over the radio.

  “It’s going to be cooler up there; and for the kids, keep yawning until your ears pop,” he added.

  “I love it up here,” I told Jake, waving my arm toward the west. “This is truly God’s country,” I added, breathing deeply.

  “Miss Texas yet, buddy?” asked Jake.

  “Not today,” I laughed. “Not today.”

  Nearing the top, I called out to Lonnie over the radio. “We’ll be taking a left up about two miles. There’s a place to turn off, and I want to radio David. There are ten miles to go, and I want his group to be ready if we need any help.”

  Lonnie pulled off the highway, just before the Colorado line.

  Jim set up the ham radio and was able to get David on the line in minutes.

  “Okay, buddy,” I said. “We’re just off the Interstate at the pass. Any idea of what we’re headed into?”

  “Sorry, Lance. We’ve got our side of the bridge covered, but it’s been so busy here we haven’t gotten around to doing a proper recon of the other side. There are occasional shots heard from that side, but it may just be hunters. We have done some reinforcements to the bridge, so your trailers hopefully will have a safe crossing.

  “Remember, though, it’s a good long drop down the river, and it’s running high right now. Let’s have you all stop just before the bridge, and we’ll have anyone not driving walk over under our protection. Then one vehicle at a time, with the lightest ones first.”

  Lonnie and Mike resumed their spots back on the trailer.

  Lonnie asked all adults to meet up, after a coordinated potty break for the kids.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-nine ~ Raton Pass, New Mexico

  “We’ve got ten miles of dirt to our halfway point. We will be able to rest up in relative safety for a few days, but all will need to pitch in and carry our weight, so we’re not freeloading off their group,” I said.

  “The next ten miles may be easy, or may not be. We’re committed once we start,” I added. “With this narrow road, there is no turning around for us, especially with the trailers.

  “One way in and one way out, at least for two-wheel-drive vehicles, like ours.”

  Jake led a quick prayer for the group, and we were off.

  The open road disappeared into the trees. Jake looked at his watch, and it read 3:37 p.m.

  “You don’t still have your nerf gun out, do you?” I asked Jake, elbowing him in the side.

  “I wish,” he replied, “but I do have a good idea for the kids later today.”

  “Eyes open, boys!” called Lonnie from the back of the lead truck.

  “We’ve got eyes on both sides,” called Lonnie over the radio. Looking closely into the trees, I saw people staring out from the cover of the woods.

  “Five miles per hour,” Lonnie called out, “but keep moving.”

  “This could go either way,” I said to Jake in a low voice.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “We’re so close. I just want some downtime.”

  “Me too, buddy,” I replied.

  “Stop!” called Lonnie to his wife, who was driving the lead truck.

  The caravan came to a halt, and Jake and I jumped on the back of the truck to join Lonnie.

  “That’s a new one,” said Jake, pointing ahead 20 yards to the trench more than ten feet wide and across the entirety of the narrow road.

  “We’re stuck!” called Lonnie to Jake and me.

  Mike and Steve walked up from the rear trailer and hopped on the back of the lead truck.

  “We’re on our own,” I told them. “David’s nine miles away.”

  The caravan stopping just short of the crossroad pit, I could see it was six feet deep.

  “Simplicity at its best,” I said aloud, hoping this good day wouldn’t end badly.

  Waiting for nearly five minutes, men and women emerged on both sides from the trees. Rifles were clearly visible but varied considerably, from shotguns to deer rifles and a few BB guns, from my vantage point.

  “Off the trailer,” called a man, stepping out of the trees to my right.

  “What’s your name, sir,” I asked, staying put.

  “The Keeper,” he replied.

  “Of these woods?” I asked, playing along.

  “That’s right,” he responded, “and we don’t need any outsiders coming into our territory.”

  “We’re not outsiders,” I told him, hoping I wasn’t causing any future problems for David. “Just passing through is all,”
I added.

  “Passing through to where?” asked the Keeper.

  “The other side of the bridge,” I responded.

  “Who do you know over there?” he asked sternly.

  “David,” I told him.

  “How do you know him?” he responded.

  “David Jenkins and his parents have had property up here for years,” I added.

  “You mean Dean and Beatrice?” he asked.

  “Yes, they are David’s parents,” I replied.

  “Shame what happened to Dean, getting offed by his own grandson,” the Keeper replied, spitting a dip onto the dusty road.

  Jake and Lonnie looked at me, brows raised.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, still having no idea how we would get past this point.

  “My men saw it,” he continued. “Looked like an accident. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said, chuckling.

  My blood was boiling at this asshole casually talking about the killing of a man I always looked up to and admired.

  “What do you want?” I asked matter of factly.

  “We’re just talking here,” replied the Keeper.

  “All right. Put up the bridge or whatever you have, and let us cross,” I commanded.

  Jake gave me a look to take it slow. I looked at Mike, as he grinned and said, “You ready?” in a quiet voice.

  More men walked out into the road from the trees, all sporting old hunting rifles.

  “And if we don’t?” replied the Keeper, half-smiling, with a toothless grin.

  “Then we just take it,” interjected Mike, raising his AR and firing a single shot into the Keeper’s forehead, snapping his head back and collapsing to the ground.

  “Who’s next?” asked Mike loudly, waiving his rifle back and forth towards the now gathered crowd of nearly 20 men and women.

  No one responded, with many laying their weapons on the ground in front of them.

  “Who’s second-in-charge?” he called out loudly.

  “I guess that’s me,” said a man who had already laid his weapon down.

  “What’s your name?” Mike asked. “And if you tell me something like ‘The Keeper,’ I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, stammering and shaking. “My name is Nate, and we don’t want any trouble.”

  “Come over here, Nate,” I told him, and tell me what you know about Dean Jenkins.

  I got the full story and thought I had a pretty good idea of what happened, now feeling bad for both David and Mark.

  “How do we cross with the trailers?” I asked Nate.

  “We’ve got steel beams,” he replied, “and I think it will hold the weight.”

  “You better hope it does,” replied Mike, “because I’m done screwing around with you guys.

  “In the lead truck,” commanded Mike to Nate. “Have your guys lay the steel and you drive us over. We fall short, and you’re not going home tonight. Understood?”

  “I’m not sure I’m the best man to drive across,” he stammered.

  “Sure, you are,” replied Mike, “unless it can’t be done.

  “Careful of your answer here. If it can’t be done, then you guys have been lying to us all along. And that’s what happens to liars,” he said, pointing to the former leader laid out on the hard ground.

  Nate instructed his people to lay the steel beams across the ditch.

  We all got off the truck and trailer, except for Nate and Mike, both in the cab.

  Slowly crossing the beams, Nate let out a sigh as they reached the other side, trailer intact.

  “Four more to go,” Mike announced, standing on the side with his new friend.

  “I guarantee this bridge will hold,” said Nate.

  “If you guarantee it, then it’s good enough for me,” replied Mike.

  “And I guarantee you’re going to drive each vehicle and trailer over it to the other side,” he added.

  One by one, Mike’s new friend drove each vehicle over.

  “See, I told you it would hold,” said Nate, looking relieved.

  “Don’t worry. On your way back, we’ll give you a hand,” he added, with just a twinge of sarcasm.

  “We forgot to ask you, Nate. Who’s third in charge?” asked Joy, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Do you see my point, Nate?”

  “Yes. I mean, yes, ma’am.”

  “Last thing, Nate. Who’s now second-in-charge?” Joy repeated. “This ditch had better be filled in when we head back this way. You’ve got two days to get it done.”

  “When did your wife go badass?” Jake asked me.

  “She always has been,” I replied.

  Taking our time winding through the heavily treed forest, I felt something like home. Birds were singing in the trees, and everything was green.

  The next eight miles were some of the best we had encountered.

  The woods, cool and dark, rolled past with our hodgepodge of misfit travel companions all looking forward to a few days’ rest.

  “Up ahead,” I called over the radio. “The bridge is a half-mile up. Stop just before it.”

  Slowing to a full stop before the 150-foot-long bridge, I walked out to the center with Jake and Lonnie to meet David, Mark and Mel at the halfway point.

  “It’s been a long time, my brother,” I told David, hugging him with two pats on the shoulder.

  “You must be Mark,” I added, shaking the young man’s hand.

  “Mel over here,” pointed David.

  “Jake and Lonnie,” I pointed, as we all traded handshakes.

  “You look like crap, Lance,” said David, sporting a perfectly groomed black beard of a millennial logger look-alike, except David could actually log.

  “I feel like crap, buddy. It’s been a hell of a trip so far, and I, for one, am looking forward to you serving me breakfast every morning for the next few days.”

  David laughed with Mark, who was not getting the lighthearted banter.

  “Sarcasm, my boy,” said David, “and my old buddy Lance is the ringmaster. His picture was included in the Wikipedia file under the word smart-ass.”

  He and I were laughing, with Jake and Lonnie just smiling.

  “Can I go back now?” Mark asked his dad.

  “Sure, son, but wait at the end of the bridge, in case we need some help with their vehicles.”

  “We ran into a few of the guys about nine miles back,” I told David.

  “You ever hear of a guy called ‘the Keeper’?” Lonnie asked him.

  “Yeah. That guy’s an idiot, a real piece of work. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gathered a small army by now, with his preaching of a new and better life with him as the leader,” replied David.

  “Not anymore,” I told him, nodding back towards our caravan. “The position has been passed down…”

  “All right, let’s get your group across this bridge,” said David. “The lightest cars first, with a driver only.”

  I had forgotten about the drop from this bridge. “About 30 feet?” I asked David.

  “Yep. Over 40 when the river is low. Who can swim?” he asked, only half joking.

  Jake and I both nodded our heads. “That’s where I’m out!” said Lonnie. “I never did learn how to swim.”

  “I’ll take the first one, buddy,” I told Jake, “and we can switch off, each having one trailer.”

  “Like a game of Russian roulette,” added Lonnie.

  “Slow and steady,” said David. “Keep your windows rolled down and don’t stop unless I signal.”

  Squeezing the first SUV past the trailer in front, I edged out on to the bridge. The old wooden structure creaked and vibrated but held its position. Three miles per hour, and I was across in two minutes.

  We did the same with the other vehicles, switching off drivers.

  “So, I get the first trailer?” asked Jake, a bit sarcastically.

  “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ve got the next one, and you know the second
one across is always the hardest.”