The storm was still in full swing.
With extreme caution, she inched to the left and peeped out.
He was gone!
She grinned as she craned her neck for a better look, astonished at her good fortune. The rumor she’d heard must be true. Rain did interfere with their Heat Vision! Otherwise, the Terminator would have detected Chastity and her. She leaned back and patted Chastity’s head. “It’s all right, honey. The Bubbleheads won’t get us.”
“Can I go to the bathroom now?”
“In a bit.”
“I have to go bad. Mommy.”
“All right. Let me make sure the coast is clear, and then you can go.”
“Okay.”
The mother shifted and deposited Chastity on the ground at the base of the crisscrossed roots. “You’re to stay put. Do you understand?”
Chastity nodded.
“I don’t want you to move a muscle until I get back,” the mother reiterated.
“I won’t. Mommy,” Chastity promised.
“Good.” The mother moved to the left and paused in the opening.
“Remember,” she cautioned in a whisper, “don’t budge until I come back.”
“Why can’t I go right here?” Chastity inquired.
“We might need to stay here for a while.” the mother responded. “Just stay where you are. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” Chastity said, and sighed.
The mother stepped into the rain, the drops pummeling her head and shoulders, the water splattering her eyes. She pressed her right hand, palm down, to her forehead and surveyed the immediate vicinity. A lightning strike to the east lit up the heavens, casting the forest in stark relief. She could see the tree limbs whipping in the wind, and the bushes quaking, the weeds shaking, but there was no sign of the Terminator.
Emboldened, she walked toward the nearest trees, constantly scanning in all directions. When she was 15 yards from the knoll she halted, grinning.
They had done it!
Now all they had to do was wait out the storm!
She turned, her happy expression transforming into a horrified countenance, her left arm extending in a defensive gesture. “No!” she blurted out.
“Yes!” responded the Terminator, standing not four feet from her, his voice muffled by his headpiece. He held the Fryer nozzle at waist height.
She glanced over his right shoulder at the knoll, hoping Chastity was staying hidden.
“Did you really think you’d get away with it?” the Terminator demanded, talking loudly to be heard above the downpour.
“I had to try.”
“You’re a fool!” the Terminator declared.
The mother said nothing.
“Where is the child?” he asked.
“What child?”
“Don’t play games with me,” the Terminator stated testily.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Terminator swiveled the Fryer nozzle, pointing the tip at her.
“Make this easy on yourself. Tell me where the child is.”
The mother’s lips compressed into a thin line, signifying her defiance.
“We’ll find her,” the Terminator said. “It’s only a matter of time.”
She refused to speak.
“Wouldn’t you prefer to go out together?” he queried. “It would be better for her.”
“As if you had her best interest at heart!” the woman snapped. “Don’t make me laugh!”
“And you do?” the Terminator retorted. “You’re kidding no one but yourself, lady. If you really cared for the kid, you wouldn’t have pulled this stupid stunt.”
“How did you find out?” she asked.
“How do you think?” he replied.
“One of the monitors picked us up?” she asked.
The Terminator shook his head. “Guess again.”
“My apartment was bugged.”
He laughed, a hollow sound under his headpiece. “You flatter yourself.
You weren’t even under surveillance.”
“Then how…” she began, then stopped, insight flooding her mind. “No!”
“Yes,” the Terminator responded. “How else?”
“An Informer!”
“Of course,” he confirmed.
“But that’s impossible!” the mother exclaimed. “I only told one person.”
“One too many,” he said.
“No!” she declared. “I refuse to believe you! I told the one person I trust completely.”
“Misplaced trust,” he commented.
“You’re lying,” she stubbornly persisted.
“Am I?” the Terminator replied. “Then how did we know which road you would be taking? How did we know tonight was the night?” He paused. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money.”
The realization that he was telling the truth hit her harder than any physical blow possibly could, and she took a step backwards, shaking her head, emotionally staggered. “You’re just saying that!”
“You know better.”
She stared skyward, an upwelling of tears commingling with the raindrops.
“Now where is your daughter?” the Terminator probed.
Her face, upturned to the clouds and the storm, was inexpressibly sad.
“Where the hell is your daughter?”
She did not respond.
The Terminator shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The mother looked at him. “May God have mercy on your soul.”
“God?” The Terminator chuckled. “You are way off the deep end, aren’t you? There is no God. The Civil Council made that determination decades ago.”
“And you believe them?”
“What a dumb-ass question!” he retorted. “The Civil Council wouldn’t mislead us.”
“The Civil Council is a pack of lying degenerates,” she said bitterly.
“We can add treason to your list of crimes,” the Terminator remarked.
“Anything else?”
“There is a God.”
He shook his head. “Pitiful! You’re insane, lady! You know the saying.
Divinity is depravity; humanity is reality.”
“I was taught the same garbage in school.”
The Terminator hefted the Fryer. “I’ve listened to enough of your sedition, to your blasphemy against the Council.”
“Don’t I get a last request?” she asked.
“No,” the Terminator said, then squeezed the trigger on the nuzzle. The flames engulfed the woman before she could hope to react, the intensity of the heat only slightly reduced by the dampening effect of the rain. She staggered backwards, waving her arms, screaming in torment as her blue cotton jump suit combusted and her skin fried. He took a stride closer, sweeping the nozzle up and down, directing the blistering flames from her head to her feet. Her hair was on fire. He watched her fall to her knees, her movements becoming weaker and weaker, and he poured on the flames, relishing the sight of her charred features, of her gaping, blackened lips.
She pitched onto her face, her body ablaze, convulsing for several moments before lying still. He let up on the Fryer and stared at her smoldering corpse as the rain quickly extinguished his handiwork. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered, and pivoted, scrutinizing the trees. Now where was the brat?
Chapter One
“I’m tired of all this blamed walkin’,” remarked the blond man in buckskins.
“Quit your griping,” said the giant.
“I’m not gripin’,” the man in buckskins responded. “I’m simply makin’ a point.”
“Which is?” the giant asked.
“That we should find a buggy somewhere and borrow it,” suggested the one in buckskins. His long blond hair complemented his sweeping moustache of the same color. Around his waist were strapped a pair of Colt Python revolvers, and over his left shoulder was slung an Uzi.