by Timothy Zahn
“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “They’re gone. Isn’t that enough?”
And right on cue came another burst of minigun fire, from somewhere west or northwest of them.
Somewhere in the general direction of Moldering Lost Ashes.
Kyle listened to the gunfire, his throat tightening. His people were under attack, people who had taken him and Star in when they didn’t have anywhere else to go. And Orozco was there, too, who’d been their teacher, their guardian, and their friend.
But there was nothing he could do to help them. Besides, he’d promised Orozco he would stay away from the place.
And he had a responsibility already. A responsibility named Star.
“Come on,” he said. He eased himself up out of his sitting position, wincing at the sudden twinges of pain in muscles that had been too still for too long. Getting a grip on the edge of the windshield frame, he pulled himself out of the car.
From inside, only the very edges of the compound had been visible. From outside, though, the full extent of the carnage could be seen. Kyle stared at the bodies littering the street, his stomach churning, a small part of his stunned mind grateful that the darkness hid most of the details.
He turned back as Star emerged from the car.
“Over here,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and turning her away from the bodies and toward the gap between the cars. “We need to make sure Fido’s still with the broken ones.”
She frowned up at him. Fido?
“The Terminator who chased us after they killed Vuong and the others,” Kyle explained, grimacing at the memory. The traders had made their own promise to Orozco, a promise to protect him and Star. And had been murdered for their efforts. “It’s just something to call it.”
What does it mean?
“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “I heard once that it was a name people used to call dogs. Family dogs,” he added as her eyes widened. “Not the wild ones.” Stepping to the edge of the gap, he looked carefully out.
The damaged Terminators hadn’t made it very far. They were not quite a block away, plodding along together like gangers drunk on homemade wine. Fido was still walking behind them, its head turning back and forth. Probably looking for fresh targets, now that Skynet’s killing spree had begun.
Star caught his arm. Where are we going?
“Somewhere away from here,” he told her, giving Fido one last look and then stepping back into shelter around the front of the car. “We’ll head east, the direction we were going when... you know.”
What about Orozco and the people at the Ashes?
Kyle grimaced. Star had that look about her, the one that said she was about to go all stubborn on him. “There’s nothing we can do to help them,” he told her firmly. “Besides, Orozco told us not to come back.”
The look darkened a little more. We can’t just leave them.
“Orozco told us not to come back,” Kyle repeated, starting to get angry.
We can’t just leave them, Star signed again, and crossed her arms across her chest.
Kyle clenched his teeth hard enough to hurt. Couldn’t she see he was trying to help her?
And then he took a closer look at her face. Behind the angry defiance, he could see the trembling lower lip and the tears in her eyes.
He sighed. She knew what he was trying to do, all right. But running away... she wouldn’t be able to live with herself afterward.
Actually, come to think of it, Kyle wasn’t sure he could, either.
“Fine,” he said, giving up. “Stay here a second. I’ll go find a couple of guns and we’ll go back to the Ashes and see what we can do to help.”
Steeling himself, he headed into the compound.
There were dozens of guns lying around the street among the dead bodies. Kyle chose a rifle with a nearly full clip, gingerly removing an extra clip from the body of the man whose fingers were still wrapped around the weapon. A pump shotgun was next, along with a small pouch full of extra shells. Additional ammo for his Colt wasn’t quite as simple, but it took only four tries to find someone carrying rounds of the right caliber.
He was stuffing the extra cartridges into his pockets when Star suddenly appeared at his side, her face taut. It’s coming back, she signed.
Kyle didn’t need to hear any more. “Let’s go,” he muttered, throwing a quick look behind him as he looped the shotgun over his shoulder and grabbed the rifle. Nudging Star ahead of him, he headed toward the line of cars at the southern end of the compound.
Star had ducked through the wide gap the other Terminators had made, and Kyle was starting to follow, when the roar of automatic fire split the night and a crackle of shots slammed across the car beside him.
Kyle threw himself behind the car as a second burst shredded the rusting metal. “Go!” he shouted at Star, looking around. “That building—there,” he added, pointing to a dilapidated four-story structure just to the west of them. “Go on—I’ll catch up.”
Star’s eyes were wide with fear, but she nodded and sprinted toward the building. Lifting the rifle to his shoulder, Kyle eased back to the end of the car and looked around it.
Fido was striding across the compound, its glowing red eyes sweeping the area as it looked for something to kill. Sighting carefully along the barrel of his rifle, Kyle squeezed off a shot.
The round slammed into the Terminator’s hip, and for a moment its stride faltered as it worked to regain its balance. Kyle fired another shot, this time at the machine’s knee. It again staggered slightly, then sent another burst from its minigun into Kyle’s shelter. Kyle fired twice more, then ducked back from the gap and headed after Star.
The girl had made good headway, but Kyle had longer legs and he caught up with her before she was more than halfway to their target building. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along with him. If they could get into the building before the Terminator made it through the line of cars, they had a chance.
If they couldn’t, they were both dead.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
John’s team slipped out into the night, and Kate was all alone.
For a few minutes she paced around the narrow building, pausing occasionally to arrange or rearrange the stacks of extra clothing, food, and weapons that the attack teams had left behind, just for something to do. Outside, she could hear Skynet’s slaughter working its way through the neighborhood, and she found herself wincing with each burst of minigun fire. Sooner or later, if they hadn’t already, the Terminators were going to reach the Moldavia building.
All those people. All those children..
She stopped by the door, glaring at it as if it was the door’s fault she was stuck in here. It isn’t fair, she groused to herself. The new recruits had gotten to go with the teams. Even Leon and Carol Iliaki, and she knew John was aware of his blatant hypocrisy on that one. Leon’s wife was allowed to fight alongside her husband, but Kate wasn’t allowed to fight alongside hers.
She took a deep, ragged breath. Stop it, she told herself firmly as guilt momentarily eclipsed her anger. This was ridiculous, and disgustingly out of character besides. She didn’t much care for mood swings in others, and she liked them even less in herself.
But damn it, it wasn’t fair. She should have stood up to John. She should have done something about this.
And abruptly, she decided she would.
Slinging her medical bag over her shoulder, she picked up her rifle and cautiously opened the door. No one and nothing was moving out there. Listening to the deadly clatter of minigun fire and the pounding of her own heart, she headed out into the darkness.
The sounds of the distant explosions faded away, and as they did so another burst of minigun fire rattled across the cold night air. Balancing precariously on one of the skeletal seats in the overturned bus he and the others had moved into an hour ago, Barnes raised his head up through one of the glassless windows. Maybe this time there would be something out there to see.
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Not yet. Wherever the Terminators were operating, whoever they were killing, they hadn’t yet made it to this part of the neighborhood. Lowering his head, he dropped back into the bus’s interior and looked at Dozer and Reynolds.
To find them looking right back at him.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
The two men glanced at each other. “Just wondering if us being here is really such a good idea,” Dozer said.
Barnes grimaced. The man did have a point. When a team was as outnumbered and outgunned as theirs was, standard military doctrine was to stay together, taking advantage of mutual support and overlapping fields of fire. Connor had already gone out on a limb by sending David and Tunney out on their own, even if all three of those squads would eventually end up converging on the same target.
But to then split off Barnes’s squad this way, especially given how isolated they now were from everyone else, was pushing the doctrine to breaking point.
But he wasn’t going to tell Dozer that. You never second-guessed your commander in the middle of an operation. You especially didn’t second-guess John Connor. “Connor knows what he’s doing,” he told the men brusquely.
“Sounds like they’re getting closer,” Simmons murmured. He was crouched at the wide opening where the bus’s rear doors had once been, peering out into the night.
Barnes focused on the sound of the minigun bursts. Simmons was right. It wouldn’t be long now.
“We have a specific plan?” Reynolds asked.
Barnes shrugged.
“We wait till they get near Moldavia’s archway, then we blow ‘em to splinters.”
“I like it,” Simmons commented dryly. “Simple, direct, and effective.”
There was a sudden sound of feet on gravel, and Pavlova ducked in beside Simmons.
“They’re coming,” she said, panting as she holstered her .45 and picked up her rifle. “I make it five T-600s, heading in from the west on the second cross street to the north.”
“Walking straight down Orozco’s throat,” Barnes growled. “Okay, take your—”
“Movement!” Simmons cut in. “Someone—human— coming around the first corner to the north. Heading our way.”
Barnes cursed under his breath as he hurried toward the rear of the bus. One of Orozco’s people trying to make a run for it? Some lunatic ganger out for a stroll? He reached Simmons’ side—
Just as Kate Connor slipped past Simmons into the bus.
Barnes felt his mouth drop open in surprise. “What—?”
“John changed his mind,” she said, breathing a little heavily as she unslung the rifle from her shoulder. “He thought I’d be safer with you than back there alone.”
“Right,” Barnes said, gazing hard into her eyes.
But she returned his gaze steadily, and after a moment Barnes gave a little shrug. If you didn’t second-guess John Connor, you also didn’t second-guess John Connor’s wife.
“Fine,” he said, pointing to the middle of the bus. “There’s your station, right below mine and Simmons’. You’ll be on reload and backup duty.”
“Got it.” Giving a brisk nod, Kate stepped past him and headed for the pile of ammo bags.
Barnes glanced around at the others. None of them looked particularly happy that Kate had crashed the party. But somehow, none of them looked all that surprised, either. “What are you all staring at?” he growled. “Get to your stations. We’ve got some Terminators to kill.”
There was another burst of minigun fire, this one much closer than the last few had been. Orozco peered over the fountain wall toward the archway, resettling his grip on his M16.
It wouldn’t be long now.
He took a moment to look to his left, across the line of men and a few women who were crouching with him along the back side of the fountain’s wall. Half turning, he scanned the balcony, where the rest of the teams were lined up. With the building’s rear and sides blocked and booby-trapped, the main entrance was now the only way for the Terminators to get in.
This was where the war for Moldering Lost Ashes would take place.
Everyone else knew that, too. And they were scared. Some of them were scared enough to be well on the way to being terrified.
But they were still there. None of them had dropped his or her weapon and scurried away to try to find somewhere to hide.
They were good people Orozco knew as he let his eyes drift across each of their faces. It had been a privilege to live here among such people for the past two years.
It would be an honor to die among them.
A figure moved in the shadows at the very edge of the archway, and Orozco turned back to see Grimaldi hurrying across the lobby toward them. The chief rounded the fountain and dropped into cover beside Orozco.
“They’re coming,” he said as he snatched up his rifle, his own fear under tight control. “Five Terminators, heading down the street straight toward us.”
Orozco peered through the archway. He could see them now, too, dark figures moving against a slightly lighter background, striding through the shadow of the sniper nest building toward them.
“Five targets,” Orozco confirmed, resting the barrel of his M16 on the fountain wall. By all rights, he knew, he should have been the one up there at the archway, exposing himself to danger as he watched for the enemy to make its appearance. But Grimaldi had insisted that Orozco was too valuable to their defense, and had taken that duty himself.
“Remember: aim for the heads and necks,” he called softly to the rest of the fire team. “As they get closer, shift fire to hips and knees and try to cripple them. They’ll be firing, too, very hard and very fast, so keep yourselves as much under cover as you can. Grenadiers, stay under cover until they trigger the traps and I call for you. And do not light your fuses until I give the word.
“Everyone understand what you’re supposed to do?”
There was a flurry of tense acknowledgments.
“Good,” Orozco said, thumbing off the M16’s safety. “Hold your fire until they’re past the building and start across the street—we might as well take advantage of what little light is out there.”
He watched as the figures approached, lining up his sights on the head of the one in the center. The Terminators reached the edge of the building’s shadow and stepped out into the pale moonlight, their rubber faces impassive, their right arms crooked at the elbow, their terrible miniguns pointed straight down the Ashes’ throat.
Holding his breath, Orozco tightened his finger on his trigger—
And without warning, a brilliant flash of light erupted in the very center of the Terminators’ formation. Two of the machines were instantly slammed flat on the ground by the impact. The other three staggered but managed to stay on their feet.
And as the shockwave from the blast echoed through the lobby, all hell broke loose outside.
For the first few seconds all Orozco could do was stare in disbelief as the Terminators lurched and jerked under the withering fire coming at them from somewhere to the south. The two that had gone down attempted to get back up, but their efforts were stymied as they came under the same pummeling attack. All five Terminators were firing back now, their miniguns stuttering with an angry bull-hornet buzz, but the return fire didn’t seem to be having any effect on their attackers.
The hail of lead continued unabated, tearing away the machines’ rubber skin and sending clouds of metal splinters into the air. Another grenade exploded in their midst, and one of the Terminators twisted violently as its right arm was blown completely off its body.
And with that, Orozco abruptly unfroze.
“Grenadiers: follow me,” he shouted over the gunfire. Dropping the butt of his M16 onto the floor beside the fountain, he snatched up his lighter and two of the pipe bombs from beside him and sprinted for the archway.
His squad of bomb throwers were clearly even more befuddled by the sudden change in the situation than Orozco himself had been, and only two of
them managed to unfuddle themselves fast enough to take him up on his invitation. But two were enough. With their full attention on the other attack, the beleaguered Terminators probably never even saw the three figures running toward them through the gloom.
Orozco lit one of his fuses as he ran, his peripheral vision confirming that his two companions were doing likewise. As he reached the archway he came to a halt and carefully lobbed his bomb directly beneath the feet of one of the machines. The others’ bombs were right behind his.
Shouting a warning, Orozco turned his back and threw himself flat on the floor.
The three bombs went off nearly simultaneously, the multiple shock waves lifting Orozco a couple of centimeters and slamming him back down again. Rolling over, he looked behind him.
The barrage and the bombs had done the trick. All five Terminators were down, with severed metallic body parts strewn every which way across the pavement.
Through the ringing in his ears, Orozco suddenly realized the other gunfire had ceased. Focusing hard, he was just able to hear some running footsteps coming toward the archway.
He shifted his second bomb to his left hand and got a grip on his holstered Beretta. Better to be cautious, even though he was pretty sure he already knew who it was who had just saved their bacon for them.
Sure enough, a few seconds later the running footsteps slowed to a more cautious walk, and Barnes and two other men came into view.
For a moment the big black man and the Hispanic Marine locked eyes in the mutual look of men who knew what had just gone down, and therefore had no need to actually mention it. Then Barnes jerked his head toward the mass of metallic body parts that had recently been five of Skynet’s killing machines.
“Don’t just stand there,” he growled to Orozco. “Split up the pieces before they try to put themselves back together.”
“Right,” Orozco said. Looking back at the fountain, he gestured to Grimaldi and the others to stay put, repeated the gesture to the two grenadiers beside him, then made a wide circle through the very northern edge of the archway and out into the street. A moment later he had joined Barnes and the others in their task of throwing chunks of smoking metal to the four winds.