The Pilgrimage Chapter 4
They moved cautiously along the ravine, the jagged rocks looming on either side. Each step was heavy, as if Greg’s memory weighed them down, pressing them into the earth. The desert was silent but not comforting—every shadow, every gust of wind felt charged with hidden threats. Even with Greg’s sacrifice, they knew those attackers could be tracking them, undeterred by one loss in their ranks.
Julio limped along, his breathing ragged. Shen and Brad took turns helping him, bracing him when the pain became too much, his leg still stiff from the tourniquet. As the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across the land, they stopped again to rest, huddling close beneath an overhang of rock that offered scant cover.
Brad rummaged through his pack and pulled out a small bottle of water, passing it around. “Not much left,” he said grimly. “And if we’re headed to that sage, who knows how far we have to go.”
Shen stared into the distance, the landscape stretching endlessly in shades of rust and ochre. “Maybe he’s worth it. I mean, people say he’s got answers.”
“Answers for what?” Julio muttered, leaning his head back. “The war’s over. What else is there?”
Shen didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The idea of a “sage” seemed absurd, but what else did they have? Greg had been right—sometimes, a distraction was all you had. He kept staring, not saying anything, while Brad checked Julio’s leg.
Brad pulled the cloth away, grimacing at the damage. “This isn’t holding much longer,” he murmured. “And if we don’t find help or clean this wound, it’ll be worse than a bum leg. You know it.”
Julio forced a faint smile, his face pale. “Where’s my purple heart?”
Everyone chuckled as Julio winced in pain from the laughter. Just then, Shen raised a hand, signaling silence. They froze, listening. Far off, the faint echo of engines rumbled through the ravine. The sound was intermittent, but growing louder.
“Guess they’re not done with us,” Shen said, his voice low, eyes narrowed as he scanned their surroundings.
Brad grabbed his rifle, checking his remaining rounds. “We can’t keep running. They’ll catch us out in the open.”
Shen looked up, his gaze tracing the steep walls of the ravine. “We could split up. Draw them away. One group stays here, draws fire, while the other tries to make it further toward the sage.”
Julio shook his head, a faint, grim laugh escaping him. “You think we’re splitting up now? After all that?”
“No,” Brad replied, his voice hard. “We stick together. And if they’re coming, we’re making a stand.”
They set up as best they could in the narrow passage, taking cover behind a low ridge of rocks. The sound of the engines grew closer, followed by faint, scattered voices—a scouting party, no doubt sent to flush them out.
Brad looked over at Shen, nodding. “It’s now or never.”
The attackers emerged in the fading light, two of them silhouetted at the mouth of the ravine, rifles slung at their sides. Their voices carried, echoing faintly, though none of the three could make out the words. Brad motioned to Julio and Shen, a silent agreement passing between them.
They waited, breaths shallow, fingers resting lightly on their triggers. Finally, one of the men crept closer, his rifle held out in front of him, scanning the rocks. Brad took aim, heart pounding, and fired. The man fell, his body crumpling in a cloud of dust. The other raised his weapon, firing back blindly as he took cover.
The echoes of gunfire rattled through the ravine, reverberating off the rock walls. Shen fired as well, hitting the man in the leg and sending him sprawling. Silence followed, the only sound the soft clinking of brass on stone as they reloaded.
They hesitated, hearts pounding, but no one else appeared. Either the rest of the attackers had fallen back, or they were regrouping.
Brad exhaled slowly, his hand shaking slightly as he lowered his rifle. “That buys us a little time.”
“Not much,” Shen replied, still keeping his weapon raised, eyes on the ravine’s entrance.
Julio leaned back, closing his eyes briefly, exhaustion etched across his face. “We keep this up…we’ll end up like Greg.”
“Greg made his choice,” Brad said, his voice quiet but steady. “We’re gonna make ours.”
They gathered their supplies, making sure everything was packed tight, then helped Julio to his feet once more. Moving quickly but carefully, they wound their way along the ravine, slipping through narrow passages and skirting around loose rocks, each step carrying them closer to the distant figure of the sage—whoever, or whatever, he might be.
As night fell, the desert cooled, and they were forced to move by moonlight. Shadows twisted and lengthened, creating phantoms out of every rock and scrub bush. The exhaustion settled into their bones, the weight of Greg’s absence a constant reminder. But they pushed on, the silence between them filled with memories of the war and each sacrifice they’d made since.
When they finally reached a spot that seemed sheltered enough to rest, Shen took the first watch, his rifle resting on his lap, eyes scanning the desert. Brad and Julio lay down, sleep pulling at them despite the tension.
As Shen watched over his friends, he felt something shift inside him. Greg’s words echoed in his mind: Sometimes, a distraction is all you got. But it felt like more than that now. This journey, the hardship, the sacrifices—it was becoming more than a distraction, more than a meaningless quest. It was starting to feel like a chance at something. Redemption, perhaps. Or peace.