The Pilgrimage Chapter 6
The next morning, the desert greeted them with a harsh, unyielding glare. Julio’s injury was worsening, despite their attempts to keep it clean, and the infection was now a gnawing concern for all of them. As they walked, the silence between them grew heavier, each man pushing forward, yet acutely aware of Julio’s growing weakness.
They crested a low ridge when Shen spotted something ahead—just a glint at first, a flash of metal under the morning sun. As they approached, they saw it was an old SUV, its doors flung open, baking in the heat. Bullet holes peppered the metal, the windows shattered. The sand nearby was dark with stains they recognized all too well.
“Looks like we aren’t the first ones to pass through here,” Brad murmured, his voice tight.
They moved closer, each on edge, weapons at the ready. Inside, the vehicle was stripped bare, everything of value long gone. Yet when Shen checked the fuel gauge, he saw there was still a sliver left in the tank.
Brad glanced around, surveying the grim scene. “Whoever was here…they’re not coming back for it. Question is, do we?”
Shen nodded, running a hand along the driver’s seat, still sticky with dried blood. “We’re low on options. And if we don’t move faster, Julio—”
“Yeah,” Julio cut in, wincing as he shifted his weight. “I know. Just get me in the back, and let’s get rolling.”
They worked together, clearing enough debris from the vehicle to make room. Brad took the driver’s seat, with Shen in the passenger side, keeping his rifle across his lap. Julio lay down in the back, his face pale, breathing shallow. Despite their grim surroundings, he closed his eyes, thankful for a reprieve from the endless walking.
Brad started the SUV, its engine coughing to life before settling into a low rumble. He eased it forward, steering carefully to avoid any deep ruts in the sandy terrain. As they drove, the vehicle rattled and groaned, but it held together, carrying them steadily westward.
After a few hours, they spotted a cluster of structures off to the side of the road. A makeshift sign leaned against one building, marked with a faded red cross. They exchanged glances, each silently asking the same question: Was it worth the risk?
“It’s a long shot,” Shen said finally, eyes narrowed. “But if there’s even a chance Julio can get some care here…”
Brad nodded, pulling the SUV off the road and parking at a safe distance. They scanned the area for any movement before stepping out, weapons at the ready.
The outpost was quiet, though faint sounds of life came from within—a child’s laughter, the clink of metal. It seemed less like a trap and more like one of the survivor communities they’d encountered before, struggling yet managing to hold on.
They approached cautiously, and a wiry man with a rifle appeared, leaning against the doorway of the central building. He watched them for a moment before speaking. “You folks lost?”
“Not lost,” Shen replied. “Just…passing through. Our friend needs some help. Got an injury that’s getting worse.”
The man’s gaze shifted to Julio, who leaned heavily on Brad for support. After a pause, he jerked his head toward the interior. “Got a nurse inside. She can take a look, but don’t expect miracles. Supplies are thin, and we’re not running a charity.”
Brad nodded, showing his appreciation with a quiet, respectful nod. “Understood. We’ll make it worth her time.”
They moved inside, guiding Julio to a small room where a woman in her late fifties with a lined face and calm, steady hands waited. She didn’t say much, just gestured for them to set Julio down. As she examined his wound, she pursed her lips, her expression grim.
“Lucky you made it this far,” she murmured, reaching into a tin for a pair of gloves. “I’ll clean it, give him some antibiotics. It won’t be a full fix, but it’ll hold for now.”
Julio clenched his jaw, nodding his thanks, and the woman went to work. She cleaned the wound thoroughly, applying a salve that stung sharply before bandaging it with practiced care. Then she handed Brad a small bottle of antibiotics.
“Take one a day,” she instructed. “And keep it dry. You’re a long way from anywhere, but if he makes it back, this might just give him a fighting chance.”
They thanked her, offering a few items in return—extra rounds, a worn but functional knife, and a silver piece Shen kept with him. She accepted the items with a slight nod, tucking them away before leading them back to the entrance.
Outside, the man who’d greeted them earlier lingered, watching the horizon. “Where are you headed?” he asked, his tone skeptical.
“West,” Shen replied. “We’re looking for someone.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Everyone out here’s looking for someone. Hope yours is worth the trip.”
With that, he turned and headed back toward the outpost, his figure quickly blending into the shadows cast by the desert sun. They loaded Julio back into the SUV and continued their journey, the antibiotics and fresh bandages giving them a fragile sense of relief.
As the day wore on, Julio leaned his head back, his eyes half-closed, but he seemed lighter, as though the wound no longer weighed on him so heavily. The desert stretched out endlessly before them, but for the first time, the harshness of the landscape seemed almost bearable.
They drove in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. The memories of their recent encounters—Greg’s sacrifice, the abandoned vehicle, the wary hospitality of the outpost—mingled with fragments of the past, moments from the war that had led them here.
Finally, as dusk began to settle, Shen spoke, his voice low and reflective. “You think this sage will even care about who we were, what we did?”
Brad was quiet for a moment before answering. “Care? Probably not. But maybe he’ll understand. Or maybe he’ll call us out for the monsters we became.” He exhaled sharply, his gaze distant. “Either way, it feels like…like we need someone to say it. To see us, for what we are.”
Julio, his voice a faint murmur, added, “Or maybe he’ll see us for what we could be.”
The silence returned, deeper and heavier than before, each man feeling the weight of the journey ahead. They didn’t know what they would find—or even if the sage existed at all. But something compelled them forward, a quiet force that had driven them since the war ended. Whatever lay ahead, they were bound to face it together, for better or worse.