Fic - Sacrifices (6/7)
Title: Sacrifices (6/7)
Rating: R: violence, harsh language, you probably know the drill by now.
Warning: The story contains the death of a young child right at the outset, and later scenes of violence involving a child which some people may find distressing.
~ ~ ~
Sacrifices 6/7
~ ~ ~
The disposable cell phone Danny had hidden in his duffel bag bleeped once as a message was received. On the video link, Kristina paid him no attention as he read the text. One word: Go. He leaned forward, flicked a switch, and severed the link to Kristina. Within seconds, his own cell phone began to ring. Ignoring it, he pulled his keyboard closer and typed a line of code. Seventeen seconds later, the tiny spark of intelligence that remained of John Henry answered him.
~ ~ ~
Inside the lobby it was dark and silent, heat smothering them like a heavy blanket. Holding up one finger, Sarah pointed at Derek, and then with two fingers at Cameron. She signaled three for herself. They nodded their understanding and Derek patted the radio hooked onto his belt: stay in contact. A quick touch to his hand, a quick touch to the Glock tucked in the back of her pants, and then she led the way, taking the stairs two at a time until the only footsteps she could hear were her own.
~ ~ ~
“Something’s wrong, I’ve lost Dyson.” Kristina slammed her phone down. “And he’s blocking my access to Cain.”
The screen in front of her flickered on and off as Cain fought to break through whatever Danny had done to contain it.
“I’ll check the perimeter.” The T-888 pulled its Colt M19 from its holster.
“No.” Kristina barely afforded it a glance. “Check Savannah.” She didn’t wait for it to acknowledge her order. Lowering her head, she renewed her efforts to rouse Cain.
~ ~ ~
John Henry, try to focus.
Static filled the screen. Danny cursed vehemently, wondering whether he had left it too late, whether there was enough of John Henry still functional to manage what he needed to ask of him.
Here.
Danny let out a breath, his palms slick with sweat.
Do you want to help Savannah?
Another pause, and Danny watched in horror as Cain sent a series of messages to John Henry and Kristina.
More.
The screen died and instantly switched on again.
Than anything.
Danny nodded in relief, but he knew he needed to be certain that John Henry understood what he was agreeing to, that he was aware what the price of his commitment would be.
You and your brother will die.
An image flashed up, a man laughing in derision, and Danny realized that Cain was giving him his answer. John Henry’s reply appeared ten seconds later, one letter stuttering after another.
I know.
A different image, a page of ancient scripture. Genesis IV: 1-16, the story of Cain and Abel. It disappeared quickly as John Henry hit back at his brother.
Tell me what I have to do.
Focused entirely on giving John Henry the necessary instructions, Danny was startled when the door to the room suddenly opened.
“Dyson, what the fuck’s going on? Slater called me…” Wallace’s voice trailed away to nothing. Open-mouthed, he stared at the gun Danny was pointing at his chest.
Slowly, the gun unwavering, Danny pushed his chair back and stood up.
Wallace scoffed. “You don’t have the fucking guts,” he said, his mouth curling into a sneer. As if to prove his point, he took a step closer.
“You know the systems too well,” Danny whispered. This was part of the mission that he had not discussed with Sarah. “I’m sorry.”
The bullet struck the left of Wallace’s chest, throwing him backwards to thud against the wall. He lay unmoving, an expression of utter shock frozen on his face. Danny turned away, back to his keyboard. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, but he managed to type in the website address John had sent to him.
Go to the site, he instructed John Henry, and let me know when you get there.
I will.
I will.
The two replies appeared simultaneously, both brothers racing to chase down the address. Danny picked up the cheap convenience-store cell phone, hit the speed dial, and spoke as soon as John answered.
“They’re on their way,” he said.
~ ~ ~
It should have been easy. The task of navigating to one website address should have been child’s play for a computer as sophisticated as John Henry, but he was now functioning with a mere fraction of his capacity, most of his systems already having been given over to his brother. As he tried to open an internet connection, Cain was snapping at his heels like a feral dog, closing down browser after browser as if it were a game.
Watching the progress on his screen, Danny could see John Henry’s efforts failing. He called John again.
“He can’t do it, Cain’s blocking him.”
“Shit.” John sounded distracted, stressed. “I guess I know who’s trying to decrypt the password, then.”
“Not John Henry.”
“No, I figured. I’ve changed it more than a dozen times already.”
The idea had been to give John Henry the website password the second he arrived at the prompt. He would then be able to hit the link on the site before Cain had time even to attempt to disable it.
John swore and then laughed desperately. “Remind me again why you can’t just C4 the entire fucking thing.”
Danny shook his head even though John couldn’t see him. “I wish it were that easy.”
That had been Sarah’s first suggestion: C4, grenades, even a well-placed volley of bullets, until Danny had explained exactly how extensive Cain’s reach was. The intelligence had embedded itself within the Department of Defense mainframe, and its presence was widespread throughout the internet and in every Government system it had deemed necessary in order to achieve its endgame. Hitting the hardware would put a serious but impermanent dent in it. Targeting the mind would destroy it completely.
~ ~ ~
John Henry was singing. It was a song that Savannah had taught him, a Scottish folk song about a man and his trousers. She had always laughed at him for pronouncing ‘trousers’ in an American accent. Repeating the lyrics over and over kept him calm enough to focus, and he efficiently rewrote the lines of code Cain had just designed to box him in. Options rapidly appeared: Chrome, Firefox, IE. John Henry didn’t care about the particulars. He hit the first one even as he simultaneously copied the link that Danny had given him.
Danny suddenly sat upright as he saw the browser open in a small window. He double- and then triple-checked his analysis was correct, that it wasn’t another trick from Cain.
“That’s him,” he said quickly. “That’s John Henry.”
“Got it.” John sounded calm. “Password’s Emerald City.”
John Henry was waiting, the song still looping through his mind. He entered the words Danny gave him, and though he sensed his brother doing the same it didn’t matter now. John Henry could detect the code underlying the single link on the webpage he had just accessed and it was beautiful: an intricate combination of malware and viruses designed to eat into every part of him and his brother. It bore the mark of several countries and more than twenty unique coding signatures. It offered him oblivion, and John Henry willingly reached out to accept it. He clicked the link. His brother’s scream of defiance was abruptly cut off by complete silence.
“We got it.” Danny’s voice was hoarse with emotion, the screen blurring as tears filled his eyes. “It’s working.” He heard John’s breathless whoop of joy as warning lights appeared and frantic alarms began to sound from every section of the hardware surrounding him. He looked down at Wallace’s body, cooling in a pool of congealing blood. “We got it,” he said again. Exhausted, he closed his eyes, only to force them quickly open. He had more to do before he could rest.
~ ~ ~
The door opened onto a concrete room. Cameron stepped over the threshold, her thermal scan quickly confirming that the nearer half of the room was empty. As she turned, scanning systematically, her olfactory system registered the lingering scent of blood and urine while her visual array picked out the hooks and manacles affixed to the walls. She pivoted slowly to her right, taking in the details of the room’s construction and then opening her mouth in a quiet “oh” when a dark shadow, only just apparent in the corner of her eye, suddenly stepped forward. The T-888 tilted its head to one side as if to appraise her. From the stairwell it had detected movement on this level, its systems sensing the presence of one similar to its own. It didn’t recognize her model, but it knew at a glance that she wasn’t human.
Cameron reacted quickly, raising her Mossberg to fire three shots center-mass even as her scan simultaneously identified the figure as the Cromartie T-888. The machine’s hand reached for her, grasping her around the throat and then hurling her bodily across the room to smash into the concrete. Dust flew into the air, obscuring her sensors and blinding her to the machine’s next assault. It wasn’t a sophisticated foe, but it was incredibly strong. She hit the next wall head first, her vision a blur of cobalt-blue sparks as circuitry misfired and a vital part of her balance center died completely.
Staggering to her feet, Cameron immediately listed to her left and put her hand on the wall to steady herself. Her gun was a yard away from her, but when she reached down for it she misjudged the distance and had to reach again, her fingers spread out in a vain attempt to cover as much of the space as possible. The T-888 didn’t give her the opportunity to touch down for a second time. Almost lazily, it lifted her, keeping her airborne in front of it as it strode across to the far wall. When she hit the concrete this time, Cameron registered the impact of a hook between her shoulder blades. Interference zigzagged across her visual field, the outline of the T-888 leaving the room barely discernible before everything coalesced into a single blue dot.
~ ~ ~
Having already searched four rooms along the third floor corridor, Sarah crouched low and listened as the fight that had been rattling the building’s foundations came to an abrupt end. She thumbed her radio, her voice low and urgent.
“Derek?”
He responded immediately. “Not me. The metal.”
“Shit.” A quick change of the channel and she tried again. “Cameron, come in.”
The only response was an earful of static.
~ ~ ~
“No, no. Son of a fucking bitch. Son of a fucking bitch!” Kristina wasn’t entirely sure exactly whom she was directing her rage at, but Danny Dyson, John Connor and Sarah Connor were definitely at the top of her list.
With numb disbelief, she re-entered the code she used to contact Cain. It hadn’t worked the first six times and it didn’t work now. Helpless to intervene, she had watched the death of the intelligence play out in real-time on her screen, her phone ringing constantly as Kaliba techs worldwide reacted to the destruction of their one great hope.
Her cell phone rang again, the insistent pitch of it shredding what remained of her temper. Picking it up, she flung it across the room so that it hit the wall and shattered into pieces. She could hear the T-888 somewhere above her, the sound of its search the only noise now that the fighting had stopped. With Cain gone and intruders in the building, the issue of her own safety slowly began to distract her from her unrealistic plots of retribution. Fear prickling at the hairs on the back of her neck, she reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a Ruger P90. Having checked its clip, she walked quickly over to the door and stepped out into the corridor. Her eyes had little opportunity to adjust to the dim light before she felt cool metal press against the side of her head. A man’s voice, one she didn’t recognize, low and controlled:
“Don’t move.”
~ ~ ~
Sarah was halfway along the corridor when she found the locked door. Of all the rooms she had searched so far, this was the first that had been locked. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she set the Remington against the wall and reached into her back pocket for the small wallet containing the tools she needed to pick the lock. Kicking the door open would have been her preferred method of entry, but although undoubtedly quick it wasn’t a method renowned for being covert.
The lock gave way with a sharp click. She turned the handle, taking hold of the Remington again as she pushed the door open. A cursory sweep with her flashlight picked out a single bed with rumpled sheets and a pile of discarded children’s clothes.
“Savannah?” she hissed urgently. “Savannah?” There was no sign of the child, and Sarah was looking for the light switch when she heard a faint clank. Aiming her flashlight in the direction of the sound, she could just about distinguish the loops of a metal chain disappearing beneath the bed.
“Motherfuckers.” She spat the curse out, hoping she was wrong even as she knelt and then crouched lower to direct the light into the small space under the bed’s wooden frame. A choked-off whimper sounded from the far corner. Sarah heard the rustle of cloth as Savannah tried to huddle as far away from the light as she could.
“My name’s Sarah,” Sarah said softly. She switched her light off. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Another whimper, a muffled moan of pain, and then a whisper. “Is the monster out there?”
Sarah swallowed hard. “No, honey, it’s just me. There’s no monster.”
“It hurt me.”
“I know.”
For a long, silent moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity, nothing happened. Sitting and waiting in the dark, with the machine prowling somewhere below them, Sarah wondered what else she could do or say to convince a child who had been so horribly betrayed that she meant no harm. Becoming increasingly desperate, she was contemplating dragging Savannah out or pulling the bed over, when the chain rattled as the child struggled to move from her hiding place. The simple act of being patient and allowing Savannah to make her own decision had seemingly gone a long way towards earning her trust. Sarah rocked back on her heels, taking a moment to steady her breathing before switching the light back on. She reached under the bed. “Give me your hand.” Seconds ticked by as she waited again, straining to detect any noises above those of the metal links sliding across the floor and the cries of pain that Savannah was trying not to make. Fingers suddenly touched hers, hesitant and clammy. “That’s it,” Sarah said. “You’re doing really well. Just a little further.”
She lay down at full stretch beside the bed, wriggling forward and gathering Savannah into her arms. An arm flung itself around her neck, and she tucked the child’s head beneath her chin before rolling out from under the bedframe. Pushing up to sit with her back against the wall, Sarah battened down her anger and rocked Savannah as the child sobbed uncontrollably. The reasons she had had so much difficulty moving were immediately apparent. A tattered sling loosely supported an arm that was swollen and discolored, and the metal chain ended in a tight cuff bound around her ankle. The far end of the restraint was fixed to a bolt in the wall.
“Okay, it’s okay now.” Sarah could feel Savannah shivering. Her cheek was cool where it pressed against Sarah’s skin, and sweat plastered her hair to her forehead. She had been sick, the acidic smell of vomit pervading the unventilated room. Shock, pain, dehydration; there was nothing that Sarah could fix, not here. They needed to move.
“I’m just gonna unfasten this cuff, okay?” Sarah felt Savannah nod, and she smiled slightly as Savannah crooked her knee to make her ankle easier to reach. “So, who’s this, then?” Sarah passed the stuffed giraffe back to its owner with one hand while she wrestled a pick from her wallet with the other.
Savannah considered Sarah with wary eyes. When she answered, her voice was little more than a mumble. “Jenny.”
“Jenny, huh?” The second pick slid in next to the first and she maneuvered them into position. “That’s a nice name.” Outside the door, the corridor remained dark and quiet. Sarah felt the lock mechanism release and saw the thick metal band fall open. She stared at the crimson now seeping through Savannah’s filthy sock, and fought to keep her voice level. “We’re gonna go now. Just hold onto me.” She pressed her radio, opening it to all channels. “I’ve got her. Get the hell out.”
Without waiting for a reply, she hauled herself to her feet, Savannah still in her arms and just about managing to cling on around her neck and waist. “Good girl,” she muttered. Sacrificing her flashlight for her Remington, she pumped the shotgun one-handed. The satisfying thud and rattle calmed her nerves slightly. “Good girl. Just hold onto me.”
~ ~ ~
Jogging along the corridor, trying not to jostle Savannah too badly, Sarah stopped so abruptly that she overbalanced and collided with the wall.
“Oh shit.” Whatever was thundering up the stairs certainly wasn’t troubled by any thoughts of stealth, and it wasn’t far below them. “Shit.”
Behind her the corridor stretched into blackness, the rooms offering places to hide but no means of escape. In her arms, Savannah began to hyperventilate quietly. Making a snap decision, Sarah sprinted for the stairwell. Throwing the door open magnified the din of the approaching footsteps, close and gaining rapidly. Her breath coming in gasps, Sarah shook her head, tightened her hold on Savannah, and started to climb.
~ ~ ~
The one hundred and twenty seconds it usually took Cameron to reboot had already passed. Deep inside her cerebral cortex, her neural network was gradually evaluating the damage she had sustained. It was substantial. The section that mimicked the function of a human’s vestibular nerve had been patched up, however, providing the machine with the ability to move without the vertigo-like symptoms she had been experiencing. The vision of her left eye remained clouded, but her right was fully restored and attempting to compensate.
She gave an experimental twitch of her fingers. They obeyed her commands, first sluggishly and then with increasing dexterity. Reaching around to the base of her neck, she found the metal hook that was keeping her suspended. With no time for delicacy, Cameron wrenched the hook from the concrete and dropped to the floor with its tip still embedded in her endoskeleton. It wasn’t causing her any significant problems so she left it in situ, unwilling to risk further damage by pulling it free. She wavered as she stood up, her makeshift repairs holding, but only just.
Four hundred and thirty-one seconds ago, Sarah Connor’s voice had told her to ‘get the hell out’, but the sounds from the upper floors implied that things hadn’t gone exactly to plan. Taking account of the circumstances, the layout of the building, and the other less predictable factors involved in the mission, Cameron carefully began to process each of the potential scenarios. Narrowing them down systematically, she eventually arrived at the one that was most likely. She picked up her Mossberg and re-entered the stairwell.
~ ~ ~
Sarah kicked the door to the fifth floor open and barreled through it without pausing to check whether her passage was clear. She had reached the top of the stairs, the machine was somewhere behind her, and she really didn’t have any other options left. She could feel Savannah’s heartbeat thudding against her chest, the child’s breathing shallow and fast on her neck. She didn’t have the energy to waste on reassurance, and any attempt would have rung hollow anyway.
The first door was ajar, the room cluttered with unwanted furniture. She briefly considered building a barricade, but there wasn’t much time and most of the pieces were too heavy or cumbersome for her to move on her own. She left the room as it was, heading instead to the only other door on the floor. It was locked. She rolled her eyes at her consistently shitty luck, before taking a step back and hammering her booted foot against the handle. The lock and part of the wooden frame shattered on impact. She shouldered the door open.
A cool breeze immediately brushed against her face. Hardly daring to hope, Sarah looked upwards, seeking out the source of the draft. Directly above them was a small skylight, unbarred, unsecured, and too high for her to reach. An idea forming, she set Savannah down on the floor. Savannah reached out, her face ashen with fear, and Sarah cupped her cheek gently.
“I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Savannah held Sarah’s gaze for a second before nodding and huddling into a corner to conceal herself in the shadows, her face tucked into her giraffe. Sarah was already running back to the first room, where she hurriedly dragged a small table out from beneath a rotting mattress. The table was heavier than it looked, but it was the only object of the right height. She gave up trying to carry it, lowering it to the floor and dragging it along instead. She could hear the machine directly below her, doors smashing against walls as it searched the rooms. The legs of the table screeched along the floorboards. On the fourth floor, everything went quiet as the machine picked up the sound of its prey.
“Okay, easy. Can you stand up with me?”
Savannah wobbled slightly as Sarah helped her to her feet, but she clung onto Sarah’s jacket as they balanced on the table, and she managed not to fall. The skylight opened easily onto a flat roof of tarmac and grit. At the far end, approximately fifty yards away beyond three metal vents, Sarah could just about see the handles of the fire escape ladder and felt her pulse skip at that first suggestion of an escape route. She crouched down next to Savannah.
“I’m going to lift you through,” she said, and waited for Savannah’s nod. “As soon as you’re clear, I want you to run over to the ladder on your right.” She indicated the direction, to avoid any confusion. “Don’t stop. Run as fast as you can, okay?”
Savannah’s hand slipped into hers and squeezed it tightly. “You’re coming too?”
“Yes.” Sarah managed to sound more confident than she felt. “I’ll be right behind you. Ready?”
She lifted Savannah as high as she could, boosting her through the small gap and trying not to flinch at the cry of agony Savannah made as her arm jarred on the rough surface.
“Go!” Sarah called as she threw her Remington up ahead of her. Her fingers reached for the edges of the window, muscles straining as she kicked off and scrambled for purchase. The skin on her elbows tore, but she dragged herself clear and pushed herself to her knees without pausing for breath.
Savannah had only managed to stagger a few yards. Grabbing the shotgun, Sarah easily caught her up, taking the exhausted girl into her arms again. The ladder appeared faintly in the distance, black steel intermittently visible through the thin mist that the rain had brought. A siren howled far below them, two cats snarled and hissed in the alley, and two gunshots cracked sharply and startlingly, hitting Sarah’s back with such force that they pitched her forward in an uncontrolled tangle of limbs. She heard Savannah scream her name before she slammed down against the roof, and then she heard no more.
~ ~ ~
Two voices, one distant and tinny and the other close by, high-pitched with fear. Both were calling Sarah’s name. It hurt to breathe, but Sarah tried anyway, sucking air in and ignoring the fierce stabs of pain where the bullets had struck her. Her vest had borne the worst of the impact but the bullets had smashed a couple of ribs at the very least. The rooftop tilted and swayed when she lifted her head, but she knew that she had to move. She couldn’t understand why they weren’t dead already. Scrambling to her knees, she heard Savannah sobbing into her radio: “On the roof, on the roof”, and a muffled response from Derek that managed a strange combination of reassurance and complete horror.
To her left, Savannah was cowering behind one of the air vents, its smooth metal surface pock-marked by bullet holes. Sarah looked over her shoulder to see the Cromartie T-888 studying her with its head cocked sideways in curiosity. Having previously turned its attention to Savannah, it seemed surprised to realize that Sarah was still alive; she wondered how long she had stopped breathing for when it had knocked the wind out of her.
“Fuck.”
The T-888 was adjusting the angle of its gun, its momentary hesitation coming to a swift end. She scrambled for the Remington, gripping it and aiming it in one smooth movement. Her ribs jarred horribly as she fired, reloaded, and fired again, two direct hits to the machine’s torso forcing it to recoil backwards. Another shot blew its right knee socket out and sparks flew as its equilibrium faltered. Sarah took the opportunity to run, skidding to an ungainly stop at Savannah’s side and grunting softly as Savannah huddled against her chest.
“I got you, I got you.” Sarah looked around, trying to gauge the distance to the ladder. Her eyes straining to focus through the mist, she estimated they still had almost thirty yards to cross, with only one more vent to provide cover. Temporarily abandoning the safety of their current vent, she ducked clear and fired again, her optimistic effort carrying wide. She twisted Savannah around, sheltering the child beneath herself as the T-888 returned fire. She could hear it walking, but it was making slow progress, its tread uneven as it dragged its leg along the gravel. She gulped for air, trying to decide on a strategy.
Another crack from a weapon, closer and angled all wrongly to be fire from the T-888. Sarah jerked her head around, poised to drag Savannah to a different side of the vent, her heart sinking as she contemplated the inevitable outcome of an attack mounted from two directions.
“Fire-escape, Sarah. Now.” Completely lacking the artificial quality or interference of a radio transmission, Cameron’s command was crystal-clear. Sarah saw her clear the top of the ladder and drop unsteadily onto the rooftop. The T-888 was on its back, smoke rising from its head. Beside Sarah, Savannah was already standing, holding her arm out, eager to move.
“One last time, alright?” Sarah said, trying to give them both confidence as she picked her up. Savannah nodded, her grip surprisingly strong around Sarah’s neck.
As the T-888 twitched incrementally into a sitting position, Sarah ran at a wide angle, allowing Cameron to fire repeatedly. Cameron’s efforts were occasionally lacking in accuracy, but they were good enough to provide them with a safe route.
“Where’s John?” Sarah gasped as she held onto the ladder, attempting to catch her breath.
“Bringing the truck around.” Cameron fired another volley towards the T-888. It was upright now and moving towards them despite her onslaught, but a direct hit to its left arm was affecting the dexterity of its hand and it was struggling to reload its gun.
Sarah peered over the edge of the building, tracking the rain lashing down, the alley below lost in the swirling mist. Her heart sank as she glanced at the fire-escape. Although the lower sections were a staircase, the first section was a single ladder, the metal of its rungs slick and slender. She knew she didn’t have enough strength left to get herself and Savannah safely to the ground. In frustration she let loose with the Remington, forcing the T-888 to take cover itself, sparks leaping from its failing body.
“Take her. Get her out of here.” Sarah had to yell to make herself heard above Cameron’s simultaneous fire, and she saw Savannah flinch away as Cameron quickly reached out to take hold of her. “It’s okay,” Sarah said, unsure whether the child could even hear her. “She’s a friend.”
Cameron didn’t look like a friend. In the intermittent muzzle flare from her Mossberg, she looked like something from a futuristic horror movie, with one glowing eye exposed and the skin shredded from her face. Savannah whimpered as the cyborg gathered her close, and then did what most children do to hide from a horror: she tucked her head down and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Get her out of here,” Sarah repeated fiercely. “Go!”
Trusting Cameron to obey her, she whirled around to face the T-888 and cover their retreat. Her eyes widened with shock. The T-888 was closer than she had expected; in two strides it had grabbed hold of her throat, lifting her clear of the roof and squeezing hard. Sarah’s hands grappled with its fingers, her legs kicking out as she choked for air. In response it merely tightened its hold, and darkness began to creep into the edges of her vision. She heard a click as the machine finally managed to control its crippled arm well enough to slap a new clip into its weapon. Her hands fell away, her fingers numb and useless. At least Savannah is clear, she thought dully. At least my son is safe.
A blast of gunfire exploded against the side of the nearest air vent and Sarah felt the world spin as the T-888 turned to assess the unexpected threat. It altered its grip, lowering her feet to the rooftop and maneuvering her until she stood in front of its body. Its hand dropped from her neck, its damaged arm looping across her throat instead. She felt its gun press to her temple.
“Let her go.” The vent shuddered again as a bullet sang against its metal surround. “Now, you motherfucker.”
Her vision beginning to clear, Sarah watched Derek give a brutal yank on a length of chain. He had used one end of it to restrain the wrists of a woman, whom Sarah saw clearly for the first time as she stumbled in front of him. Kristina Slater was young, pretty, and absolutely livid. He had seemingly hauled her bodily through the skylight, and the sheer strength it had demanded of him was apparent in the heaving of his shoulders as he spoke. He mimicked the position of the T-888, his arm across the woman’s throat, his gun held firmly against her temple.
Kristina shook her head. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she hissed.
The machine said nothing. Sarah caught Derek’s eye and a smile touched her lips. A smile that told him that he was a fucking idiot but that she really did appreciate his effort. He smiled with her, and the machine took a step back in response, its eyebrow arched in puzzlement.
“I will kill her,” Derek said calmly, no trace of a smile now.
The machine nodded once, calculating its options. “Trade.”
“No, you won’t trade! You obey me,” Kristina screamed. “You don’t trade Sarah-fucking-Connor for me.”
It ignored her completely and repeated its offer. “Trade.” It took two steps forward, and Derek did likewise, shifting Kristina with slightly more difficulty than the machine was experiencing with Sarah.
“Reese.” Sarah’s voice was choked off by the T-888’s arm, but it was enough of a warning.
“I know,” Derek replied, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone.
“On a count of three.” The T-888 looked at Derek for confirmation. He nodded.
It happened on two. The T-888 lashed its arm out, tossing Sarah aside as if she were garbage it was eager to discard. She landed heavily, her head thudding off the tarmac to leave her lying in a stunned heap.
“Sarah?!” Momentarily distracted, Derek dropped his guard for long enough for the machine to take up the chain trailing from Kristina’s wrists and pull her free of his grasp. She stumbled and it reached out to break her fall, but she smacked its hands away, cursing it viciously and grabbing its gun from its hold. Twisting free of it, she brought the gun up to bear on Derek as he sprinted towards Sarah. After the din of so much gunfire, the weapon discharging sounded almost muted.
Derek stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Sarah’s hand drop back to her side.
“Fucking hell, Connor.” Only now recognizing the danger he had been in, he grabbed her arm and dragged her up. “Nice shot.” Behind him, Kristina howled in pain, her hands clutching to try and stanch the blood that was pouring from her thigh.
Its movements stilted and clumsy, the T-888 was searching for its gun, scanning the tarmac to determine where it had landed when Kristina had lost her grip on it.
“Yeah? ’Cos I was aiming for her head,” Sarah gasped without irony, making Derek laugh in disbelief. One eye on the machine, she looped her arm around Derek’s shoulders.
They were already running, using the remaining air vents for protection, by the time the machine fired. Sarah stooped to pick up the fallen Remington as they passed. Two rounds left. She paused, taking the time to aim as Derek fired his own weapon slightly more indiscriminately. Her first shot obliterated what was left of the T-888’s right knee. The machine dropped to the ground, where its weakened arm struggled to support its weight. That made her next target an easy decision; she took its arm out, watching as it crashed onto its side and fought unsuccessfully to recover its position.
“Now that really was a nice shot.” Derek gave a low whistle of appreciation as they half-ran, half-staggered towards the ladder.
Behind them, they could hear Kristina ordering the T-888 to give chase, to kill them, to do its fucking job and let her die, but with no hope of negotiating the fire-escape the machine had turned its attention back to her.
Panting for air, her lungs burning with every breath, Sarah reached for the ladder and took hold. One word from Derek, “Go”, and she gripped the chilled metal and began to descend.
It seemed to take hours to reach the bottom. Despite the damage they had inflicted upon the machine, the threat of pursuit or of bullets raining down on them was ever-present, but nothing appeared out of the mist and the only sound was that of their own labored breathing. Sarah crouched low beneath the last metal landing while Derek released the final section of the fire-escape, another thin ladder that clattered free to hang with its lowest rung a short distance from the ground. When the stink of the alley finally hit them, Sarah’s arms began to tremble, fatigue and adrenaline almost knocking her from the last few rungs. She landed heavily and bent double, her hands on her knees. Blood ran into her eyes, and she absently wiped it away as Derek motioned to her to move and radioed for help.
“C’mon, Connor.” He fastened the radio back onto his belt. “We’ll meet them halfway.”
She nodded, even though it hurt to be upright and the movement made her head throb mercilessly. “John? Did he…?”
“It’s done,” Derek said softly. “It’s over.”
He wrapped his arm firmly around her waist and she briefly leaned her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t over, they both knew that. It was never over. But as they started to run towards the lights of the truck, Sarah allowed herself a moment to take him at his word.
~ ~ ~
“Son of a bitch,” Kristina whispered, too weak to lift her head from the rooftop. “Son of a bitch, I ordered you…” The T-888 regarded her dispassionately and then used its fractured teeth and one functional hand to pull its tattered shirt tightly into place around her leg.
“You don’t give me my orders,” it said as soon as she had stopped screaming. “Skynet gives me my orders.” She stared at him, stunned. “And Skynet wants you alive.”
Kristina shuddered, considering the implications of that statement. She looked down at her wrists, realizing for the first time that it hadn’t freed her. Laying her head back onto the hard gravel, she inwardly cursed the Connors for the havoc they had wreaked and the consequences she was now having to take responsibility for. But mostly, as the rain fell into her eyes and her blood leaked onto the tarmac, she cursed Sarah Connor for not having been a better shot.
~ ~ ~
TBC…
~ ~ ~