Ravine

Ravine

            The enemy attacked the encampment the moment the sun peeked over the plain stretching forever to the east. John Smith, a missionary sent to convert ‘friendly natives’, as his mentor called them, watched the riders whooping and yelling as they descended upon his adoptive tribe and their cluster of teepees and fire pits nestled above a small stream cutting deep into the sunbaked landscape. He hid in a cave under an overhanging rock protruding past the edge of the ravine, a deep canyon with a meandering stream at its heart, an artery pushing red silt through the ancient walls.

John silently cursed the tribe for selecting this arbitrary place to set up camp, a blank space on all the maps he had seen. Hiding from the unfamiliar landscape and violence he had no experience with, he closed his eyes and put his fingers in his ears to drown out the screaming.
Amidst the chaos above and John’s silent prayers below, a small girl entered the cave. She climbed down, squelching the blood-choked mud spreading at the entrance to join him. The girl jumped at the sight of him hiding underground and almost backed over the cliff. John sprung up after her, ready to seize her wrist if she fell. But the girl steadied herself and hunched deeper into the cool shadows and sat.

There was nothing to do. They could only wait and hope. John knew of a fort downriver where they would be safe if they could survive the journey.

This story was published in the magazine Sheriff Nottingham. To learn more about the magazine and the issue "Ravine" appeared in, and to read the entire story, click here.