He gazed upon the bride and groom, who beamed rapturously at each other. Roger Muckerheide wore neatly-pressed khaki fatigues, complete with a red armband. A black patch covered the eye he had lost skirmishing with a T-600 on a previous fuel run. He was only seventeen, barely old enough to shave.
Tammi Salzer was a short, curly-haired blonde with a talent for demolitions. Her lacy white dress had been salvaged from the basement of a burnt-out bridal shop outside the sprawling crater that used to be Anchorage. The only authentic wedding gown in the camp, it had been passed along from bride to bride for six years now, and was showing definite signs of wear, although some unknown seamstress had done a good job of fitting the much-used gown to Tammi’s figure.
The bride clutched a bouquet of plastic flowers. Her own red ribbon was tied above her knee like a garter. She was only a year older than Sitka.
Molly was taken aback by how young the two sweethearts were. They’re just kids. They should have been planning for the prom, or trying to buy beer with phony I.D., not tempting fate by making pointless promises during an apocalypse. Tammi’s free hand rested protectively over a pronounced baby bump; rumor had it she was at least two months pregnant.
Chalk up another victory for Skynet, Molly thought bitterly. It’s terminated childhood.
“Tonight,” Ernie declared, “we do more than just unite these courageous young people in the bonds of holy matrimony. We also celebrate everything that makes us human, everything the machines will never be able to comprehend or overcome. Love. Passion. Commitment. By pledging their lives to each other, Roger and Tammi also serve as an example to us all, affirming that the future truly belongs to those who believe in it.”
Not a bad speech, Molly conceded, despite her skepticism about the proceedings. Ernie Wisetongue was the closest thing the cell had to a chaplain and all-around spiritual advisor. He was also a talented artist who carved totem poles in his spare time. His latest work-in-progress featured a triumphant sasquatch standing astride the fractured skull of a T-600. Too bad Bigfoot’s not really on our side.
Roger and Tammi exchanged their vows. Their wedding rings were made of recycled copper washers, refashioned by friendly volunteers in the machine shop. Tammi blushed bright red as Ernie informed Roger he could kiss the bride. Cheers and applause echoed throughout the chapel.
Geir squeezed Molly’s hand. He kissed the top of her head.
What a softy, she thought. She wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed that he was actually falling for all this mushy hearts-and-flowers crap. You’d think the machines would have stomped it out of him by now.
Tammi raised the plastic bouquet. Several of the younger women rushed forward to vie for it.
Molly stayed right where she was.
“Don’t even think about it,” she whispered to Sitka.
“Never crossed my mind,” the girl assured her. “Better things to do.”
Thank God for small favors, Molly thought. As she joined in the applause—for form’s sake—her mind drifted back to more important matters.
Forget the train for a minute. How are we going to get past that fucking HK?
One of the perks of command was a private bedroom above the manager’s office, as opposed to the crowded bunkhouses that served as home for the rest of the cell. The flickering light of a kerosene lamp cast dancing shadows on the log walls. A bearskin rug carpeted the floor. A shuttered balcony window offered an alternative escape route. Molly slept better with multiple exits.
She kicked off her boots and got ready for bed. The king-sized four-poster, with its mismatched comforters and quilts, looked warm and inviting. It had been a long day and then some. She was ready for it to be over.
“Admit it,” Geir teased her. He was already down to a flannel shirt and jeans. His aviator’s jacket hung on a hook by the door. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She knew he was referring to the wedding.
“I suppose. Like you said, it was good for morale.” She placed her rifle by the door. A loaded semi-automatic pistol already rested on a table next to the bed. “Beats being shot at by T-600s, I guess.”
“That’s one way to look at it.” He deposited his own weapons on the opposite side of the bed. “And speaking of weddings....”
Uh-oh.
Before she could stop him, he dropped down onto one knee.
Oh, fuck, Molly groaned inwardly. Not this again.
He fished a polished metal ring from the pocket of his shirt.
“Molly Roxana Kookesh, will you marry me?”
She recognized the ring. It was the pin from a hand grenade he had hurled at a Terminator during that raid on a Skynet interrogation facility in 2015. Her team had liberated more than two dozen POWs, including one grounded bush pilot. After she’d freed Geir from solitary confinement, they’d ended up fighting a whole passel of T-70s, side-by-side. Their “first date,” as it were.
Geir had hung onto the ring ever since.
“For God’s sake, stand up,” she told the kneeling pilot. It was hardly the first time he’d pulled this stunt. “You look ridiculous.” As usual, she treated the ring as though it was radioactive. “How many times do we have to go through this?”
He rose to his feet again, but didn’t put the ring away.
“C’mon, Molly. We’ve been together, through all kinds of hell, for three years now. What are we waiting for?”
“Are you kidding?” She couldn’t believe they were actually having this discussion again. “There’s a war on, remember? If Skynet has its way, the human race is kaput. Marriage and white picket fences and all that shit will have to wait until the machines are scrap metal—if and when that ever happens. What’s the point in planning for the future? Today is all that matters. Tomorrow’s a long shot at best.”
He flinched at her harsh words.
“Roger and Tammi didn’t think so.”
“Roger and Tammi are a couple of stupid kids who don’t know any better. They’re just foot soldiers. Cannon fodder. They can afford to cling to their starry-eyed illusions, at least until the Terminators get them.” She made sure the bedroom door was securely locked and bolted. Sleigh bells hanging from the doorknob would jangle loudly if anyone tried to force their way in while they were sleeping. Then she turned to face him.
“I’m in charge here, Geir,” she said. “I can’t allow myself to forget what really matters.”
“Neither can I,” he said stubbornly. Visibly disappointed, he dropped the ring back into his pocket. “That’s why I’m not going to give up.” His hurt expression got to her, although not enough to make her change her mind.
“I know,” she said softly. She peeled off her sweater. A scar across her flat belly was a souvenir of a close encounter with a Hunter-Killer. Geir liked to trace it with his finger sometimes. “Just be happy with what we have, okay?” She undid her ponytail. Long black hair tumbled past her bare shoulders. “I don’t want to think about tomorrow anymore. Just tonight.”
The rest of her clothes hit the floor. She climbed into the bed and threw back the covers.
“Now get over here and keep me warm.”