The Pilgrimage Chapter 5
Morning broke over the desert, casting a muted gray light over the landscape as they roused themselves from restless sleep. Shen stretched, his muscles sore from keeping watch through the night, while Brad checked on Julio, whose leg was worsening. The makeshift tourniquet had held, but the injury had grown swollen, and infection seemed likely.
“We need to find a place to rest and clean this wound,” Brad muttered, glancing over the horizon. “If we keep pushing, he’s not going to make it to Nevada.”
Julio, overhearing, forced a smirk, though it lacked his usual spark. “Guess that’ll mean you’re stuck hearing my whining until you figure it out.”
Shen looked around, scanning the barren landscape. “We’re a long way from Nevada. And if the sage is even real, he could be anywhere. Greg always said he was somewhere near Fallon, but that could’ve just been another rumor.”
“Do we have another choice?” Brad asked, his gaze hard. “If we turn back, we’re dead. And if we keep going, maybe we find something. Someone. This is what we have now.”
The three fell silent, the unspoken weight of their situation hanging between them. Greg’s loss was still fresh, an unhealed wound in their group, but it was his insistence on this pilgrimage that kept them going. If nothing else, they owed it to him to see it through.
They set out slowly, their pace dictated by Julio’s injury. Every few hours, they’d stop to let him rest, scanning the horizon for any sign of life or shelter. They rationed their supplies, carefully conserving water and food, knowing they were running dangerously low.
Around midday, as the sun bore down on them, they spotted a faint line of smoke rising in the distance. It was faint and thin, but unmistakable.
“You see that?” Shen asked, pointing. “Could be a campfire. Or maybe some kind of settlement.”
“Or a trap,” Julio muttered. “We don’t exactly have the best track record with strangers.”
“Fair point,” Brad replied, gripping his rifle. “But it’s better than staying out here to bake.”
They agreed to approach cautiously, moving through the rocky terrain, using the sparse shrubs and boulders as cover. As they drew closer, the outlines of tents and small, makeshift structures became visible, a tiny outpost nestled against a dry riverbed.
When they were close enough to make out voices, Brad signaled for them to halt. A handful of people were clustered around a fire, speaking in low tones. They wore patched clothing and carried weapons, but their stance seemed relaxed—no sign they were looking for trouble.
Shen took a deep breath and stepped forward, raising his hand in a cautious wave. “We come in peace!” he called, his voice hoarse but steady.
The people at the fire turned, and one of them—a middle-aged woman with a rifle slung across her shoulder—stood, watching them closely. After a tense moment, she gave a slight nod.
“You look like you’ve been through hell,” she said, her voice rough but not unfriendly. “If you’re looking for a place to rest, you’ve found it.”
They exchanged wary glances before moving forward, each keeping a hand on their weapons. The group by the fire parted slightly, making room for them to sit. Julio lowered himself with a groan, leaning back against a rock as the woman handed him a small tin cup filled with water.
“Thank you,” he murmured, drinking slowly.
The woman’s gaze swept over them, sharp and observant. “Where are you headed?”
Shen hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “We’re looking for someone. Heard there’s a wise man, a kind of sage, out in Nevada.”
The woman chuckled, shaking her head. “You and half the survivors out here. Every few months, someone comes through asking about him. No one’s seen him, but that doesn’t stop folks from searching.”
Julio sighed, leaning his head back. “So we’re chasing a ghost.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged, her eyes thoughtful. “Or maybe he’s real, but he only shows himself to those he deems worthy.”
Brad shifted, studying her closely. “Do you know anything about him? Anything that might help us?”
She considered for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve heard rumors. They say he’s somewhere near Fallon, keeping to himself, living off the land. Some people say he used to be a scholar, a Talmudist. Others say he was a soldier. But everyone agrees—he’s not the forgiving type. If you’re looking for redemption, you might want to prepare yourself for a hard reckoning.”
The words hung in the air, and each of them felt the weight of them. The idea of meeting someone who would see through them, who would confront them with the harsh reality of their past actions, sent a chill through them. Greg had spoken about this sage with a mixture of fear and reverence, as if he were some kind of final judge. Now, faced with the possibility of actually finding him, the pilgrimage took on a new intensity.
They stayed at the outpost for a few hours, tending to Julio’s wound and gathering their strength. The woman and her group shared a meager meal with them, exchanging stories of the war and its aftermath. It was a rare moment of camaraderie, but beneath the surface, the men remained guarded, each wrestling with his own thoughts.
When it was time to leave, the woman handed them a small cloth pouch filled with dried herbs. “For the pain,” she said, glancing at Julio. “It’s not much, but it’ll help you get where you’re going.”
They thanked her, shouldering their packs and setting off again. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the desert, and as they walked, the air grew cooler. They moved in silence, each man lost in thought, the weight of their journey pressing down on them.
Finally, Brad spoke, his voice low. “Do you think she’s right? That he’s some kind of…judge?”
Shen shrugged. “If he is, then maybe it’s what we need. We’ve done things—things we can’t take back. Maybe we need someone to remind us of that.”
Julio’s expression was unreadable as he looked out over the desert. “Or maybe we’re just gluttons for punishment.”
The road stretched out before them, a long, unbroken line leading into the fading light. With every step, they felt the distance to Nevada shrinking, the reality of their destination becoming sharper. They didn’t know exactly where the sage was, but the possibility of finding him now felt real—close enough to taste.
As darkness settled over the desert, they pressed on, their shadows merging with the night, each man burdened by the weight of his past and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.