Flight 1423 - Enroute to Asheville
The jet engines hummed as Bryan McDonald pressed his forehead against the cool window of Flight 1423, watching the familiar peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains emerge through scattered clouds. Home - or what was left of it. Each visit revealed another piece of the old world carved away, replaced by something shinier, smoother, more connected. And infinitely more dangerous.
He'd been away less than a month, but even from up here he could spot the changes. New development scars on the mountainsides. More solar farms in the valleys. The airport itself had sprouted additional terminals like metal mushrooms after rain.
"Hard to recognize, isn't it?"
The voice belonged to Tom, the retiree from DC who'd claimed the aisle seat ahead. Unlike the other passengers immersed in their devices, Tom had spent the flight reading an actual paper newspaper. Old school. Smart.
"Gets worse every time I come back," Bryan replied quietly, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry over the engine noise. "You said you used to fly here?"
"Had a little Cessna based at the old general aviation terminal." Tom gestured toward where simple hangars had once housed local planes. Now an Amazon Air hub dominated that entire side of the field, its automated logistics center gleaming with cameras and sensors. "Progress, they call it."
Bryan watched a group of younger passengers - some church youth group based on their matching shirts - excitedly pointing at their phones, probably using some app to identify landmarks below. They had no idea they were feeding data to the very systems he'd been fighting. The same systems that had now turned his daughter's life upside down.
The plane touched down with a gentle bounce, and Bryan felt his stomach tighten. Not from the landing - he'd done this hundreds of times - but from what awaited beyond the terminal. Through the window, he watched the "Welcome to AVL - Gateway to the New Appalachia" sign slide past. Someone had tried to spray paint over "New," but the airport's efficient maintenance crews had already begun erasing that small act of rebellion.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Asheville Regional," the captain's voice crackled through the speakers. "Local temperature is 82 degrees. Please remain seated until we reach our gate at the new Premium Services Terminal."
Bryan caught Tom's slight headshake. They both knew what "Premium Services" meant - more cameras, more sensors, more digital eyes watching every move. The youth group kids were already pulling out their phones, eager to reconnect to the grid. Every ping, every login, every social media check-in feeding the beast.
"First time in Asheville?" One of the tourists in expensive Patagonia gear asked his companion excitedly. "Wait till you see the new brewery district. They rebuilt it after Helene with this amazing smart city infrastructure..."
Amazing. That's what they called it. They didn't see the invisible web being woven around them, didn't feel the noose of convenience tightening with every tap and swipe.
The jet bridge connected them to what felt more like a high-end shopping mall than the mountain airport Bryan remembered. Gone were the rustic wooden benches and local craft displays. In their place, sleek charging stations and digital advertising screens tracked passengers' movements with invisible precision.
Asheville Regional Airport
"Welcome to Asheville Regional," a holographic attendant chirped as Bryan passed. "Would you like directions to ground transportation, dining options, or our exclusive Mountain Heritage Experience™?"
God, they'd even trademarked heritage now.
At the car rental counter, a small miracle waited – Mary, the last holdout from Blue Ridge Rentals, still doing things the old way. No scanning, no facial recognition, just paper forms and a human smile.
"Welcome home," she said softly, sliding actual metal keys across the counter. "Blue Subaru in the back lot. It's got some dings, but it knows these roads." Her weathered hands moved through the paperwork with practiced efficiency. "Still doing it the old way while we can. Corporate's buying us out next month."
The drive toward Almond told the region's story in painful detail. New developments carved into mountainsides like surgical scars. Signs advertising "Smart Mountain Living" and "Connected Nature Communities" - concepts that would have made his grandfather spit his whiskey. Near Maggie Valley, a lone holdout: a hand-painted sign reading "Native Mountain Property - Not For Sale At Any Price" stood defiantly before an old homestead, surrounded by construction equipment waiting to claim another piece of the old world.
Bryan took the backroads instinctively, avoiding the cameras that now dotted every major intersection. Past Bryson City, the changes became more subtle but no less concerning. Small farms sporting "Property Under Contract" signs from Charlotte development firms. Old general stores converted into boutique markets catering to tourists and transplants.
His phone buzzed - a secure message from Lane: "Dad, early arrivals started coming in. Judy's here. Things at the hospital... we need to talk."
The last mile to River Retreat showed why developers had their fangs out for this area. The Nantahala flowed pristine and powerful, its waters promising premium prices for riverside properties. Fresh survey markers lined the road - too close for comfort. They were getting bolder, pushing further into what had once been overlooked terrain.
As he turned onto the hidden drive to River Retreat, Wahya's distinctive bark echoed through the trees - three sharp, two soft. The family's alert system was active. Through the foliage, he caught glimpses of movement: people setting up camp, cars parked in designated spots that looked random but weren't, preparations that seemed casual but followed plans laid down months ago.
The house came into view, looking deceptively normal with its weathered wood siding and wide porch. But Bryan noted the subtle changes - new positions for the solar panels, carefully arranged equipment that could pass for typical outdoor gear to unsuspecting eyes.
Arriving at River Retreat
Lane appeared on the porch, Wahya at her side. The set of her shoulders, the way she scanned the treeline - she'd grown into this role faster than he'd hoped she'd need to.
"Dad," she called out, voice carrying just far enough. "Mom's got coffee on. The old kind."
Their code for: We need to talk. Now.
The mountain air carried the scent of wood smoke - not from their chimney, but from the campfires already dotting the property. The Fourth of July gathering was their cover, but like everything at River Retreat these days, it served multiple purposes.
Inside, the kitchen hummed with quiet tension. Eliza stood at the counter, her casual movements masking heightened alertness. Xander sat at the worn oak table, Jacob's notebook open before him. Claire Matthews leaned against the far wall, her teacher's observation skills now turned to watching the new arrivals through the window.
"They've got survey markers down by Jenkins' Creek," Bryan reported quietly.
"Two days ago," Lane confirmed. "Men in suits trying to look like they belonged here." She paused. "Judy says things at the hospital are changing - new systems, new protocols. The kind that track everything."
Through the kitchen window, more vehicles arrived - mostly older models, chosen for their lack of modern tracking systems. The early arrivals were setting up camp with practiced efficiency, their apparently random placement following patterns they'd drilled during previous gatherings.
"How many so far?" Bryan asked, accepting a cup of coffee from Eliza.
"Thirty confirmed," she replied. "More coming tomorrow. The story about Lillibeth's 'family emergency' is holding, but..."
"But people talk," Bryan finished. "Let them. Right now, confusion works in our favor."
A knock at the door: three slow, two quick. The old pattern.
"Margaret," Claire said. "The history teacher from Beaufort. She's been seeing things too."
Bryan moved to answer it, but paused, looking back at his assembled family. In their faces, he saw the same determination he felt - the resolve to protect not just their home, but everything these mountains represented. The old ways, the human connections, the knowledge that couldn't be digitized or controlled.
The gathering was beginning. And with it, perhaps, the real resistance.
Wondercraft narrates this Episode. Please provide feedback via the comments.
