The Pilgrimage Chapter 3

     The midday sun beat down on them, oppressive and unrelenting, as they sat in the scant shade of the rocks. Julio’s breathing was labored, his face ashen, but he kept his jaw clenched, forcing himself to stay alert.

     Greg scanned the horizon, quiet, but something about his expression made Brad glance at him twice. Greg seemed…distant. Like he was already letting go, thinking ahead to something only he knew. But Brad held his tongue, figuring if Greg wanted to say anything, he would. They all knew how to recognize someone who’d made peace with death.

     Shen broke the silence. “We’re sitting ducks out here. They’re gonna figure out where we went.” He adjusted his pack, eyes flicking between Julio and Greg. “If we head west, we can lose them in the ravines. Then it’s straight up to the highway and, maybe, find another vehicle.”

     Greg nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on Julio. “If we’re taking Julio, we’ve got to move now. But if we can’t make it fast, we’ll be forced to take that leg.”

     Julio let out a dry laugh, despite the pain. “Guess I’m not going to be doing much hiking.”

     “Or you’ll be doing a hell of a lot more with one leg,” Brad muttered, clapping Julio’s shoulder in the way they did when there was nothing else to say.

     Shen pulled out a map, tracing his finger over the terrain lines. “If we keep to the low ground, we can avoid the ridge. Maybe even give them the slip. It’s rough, but nothing we haven’t seen before.”

     “Then let’s move.” Greg’s voice was steady, but he stayed back, waiting until everyone else was ready before picking up his rifle and stepping forward.

     They made their way carefully, with Greg and Brad at the front, Julio leaning heavily on Shen. The desert stretched endlessly, barren and unforgiving, as they picked their way through low ground, veering between dry shrubs and rocky outcrops. The air felt charged, the silence amplifying the crunch of their boots and the occasional hiss of wind.

     After what felt like hours, Brad finally spoke up, keeping his voice low. “Anyone else get the feeling that this pilgrimage isn’t for us? Like maybe it’s just a…a distraction? Something to hold onto?”

     Greg gave a slight nod, barely glancing back. “Sometimes you need a distraction.” He looked down, eyes narrowing as he took in the vast, empty land. “Sometimes it’s all you got.”

     Shen shifted Julio’s weight, giving Brad a sidelong glance. “We got each other, don’t we? That counts for something.”

     Julio grunted, his face twisted in pain. “Just keep moving. Can’t die before meeting this so-called ‘sage’ in Nevada.”

     But as they pressed forward, the desert’s vast emptiness began to play tricks on them. Shadows lengthened, the horizon seeming to ripple in the heat, and every now and then, a gust of wind carried the faintest echo—something between a howl and a scream. It was almost like the desert was haunted.

     Finally, they reached the edge of a dry riverbed, a sheer drop of about six feet down. Shen slid down first, then helped Julio, carefully lowering him. The others followed, crouching low to keep their silhouettes small. They made it across, and after a few moments of crawling on hands and knees to stay concealed, Shen pulled out his map again.

     “We’re close to the ravine,” he murmured. “If we make it there, it’ll give us some cover. It’s maybe two miles from here.”

     “Two miles?” Julio scoffed, though there was a grim humor in his voice. “Feels like twenty.”

     Brad chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “Think of it as basic training, only worse.”

     But Greg didn’t laugh, his expression dark. “Keep talking if it helps,” he muttered, then added softly, “might be the last thing we get to joke about.”

     They were halfway to the ravine when it happened—a low rumble, faint but growing. Brad stopped, raising his hand for them to halt, listening intently.

     “What’s that?” Shen whispered, eyes darting around.

     The rumble grew louder, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of engines—several of them, coming up fast. The men scrambled to duck behind a small boulder, pressing themselves against the rough stone, barely breathing as they listened.

     Greg squinted, catching sight of dust rising on the far horizon. “It’s them. Must’ve followed the tracks,” he muttered.

     “We’re screwed,” Julio whispered, gripping his rifle tightly, though he was barely able to sit upright, let alone fight.

     Greg shook his head, his jaw set. “We’re not giving up that easy.”

     He motioned to Brad, who handed over a small homemade explosive—one of the few they’d brought along, knowing it could come in handy for a last resort. Greg took it without a word, glancing down the dry riverbed, where the ravine yawned just a few hundred yards away.

     “Brad, Shen, get Julio to the ravine,” Greg said, his voice low but firm. “I’ll slow them down.”

     “What?” Shen hissed, his eyes wide. “Greg, there’s no way—”

     But Greg was already moving, slipping out from behind the rock, eyes fixed on the approaching vehicles. He hefted the explosive in his hand, a strange calmness settling over him.

     “Greg…” Brad’s voice was barely a whisper, torn between respect and horror.

     Greg just gave a half-smile, the look of a man who’d already made his peace. “Just get moving. Don’t look back.”

     With one last look, Shen and Brad hoisted Julio between them, making their way toward the ravine, their footsteps echoing in the hollow silence. Behind them, Greg walked toward the oncoming vehicles, his silhouette shrinking as he moved farther away.

     As Shen, Brad, and Julio reached the edge of the ravine, the muffled blast echoed across the desert, followed by a burst of gunfire and shouting. Shen clenched his jaw, pulling Julio’s arm tighter around his shoulder, forcing them all to keep moving.

     Finally, they reached the relative safety of the ravine, ducking down, the adrenaline in their veins pushing them forward even as exhaustion threatened to overtake them. They pressed on in silence, none daring to look back. The air felt colder here, the shadows deeper, and each of them carried a hollow emptiness that seemed to settle into the marrow of their bones.

     After what felt like ages, Brad finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse. “He knew,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Greg…he knew he wasn’t coming home from this trip.”

     Shen nodded, his face grim. “He went out on his own terms. How many have we known that can say that?”

     They moved forward, their footsteps slow and heavy, each carrying the weight of Greg’s sacrifice, a silent promise to see the journey through to its end.