Climbing balls of fire, however, hinted at the furious conflict the submariners had barely escaped. Gunfire echoed across the water. A distant explosion rippled the surface of the river.
The din of battle receded into the distance, gradually replaced only by the steady chug of the motor. A somber hush fell over the men in the boat. Blasko finally broke the silence.
“You think they made it, sir?”
“I hope so, Mr. Blasko.” It pained Losenko to realize that they would probably never know. He found himself deeply moved by what Grushka and her comrades had risked for them. They were just civilians, ordinary citizens, but they had fought as bravely as any professional soldier or sailor. Looking back toward the shore, he raised his hand in salute.
Your struggle, and your sacrifices, will not be forgotten.
Blasko continued to work the rudder.
“Your orders, sir?”
Losenko turned his face forward.
“Back to the boat. Full speed ahead.”
A determined look came into his eyes. His jaw set firmly. This mission had been a costly one, but not without purpose. He had lost many good men, but he had gained something, too.
A people worth fighting for.
CHAPTER TWELVE
2018
“Shoot, damnit—don’t jam on me now!”
Firing continuously, the Terminator advanced toward the totem pole, which was rapidly turning into a toothpick. Bullets gouged the wood. Molly fumbled anxiously with her own weapon, while searching for someplace to run. Too many yards of open space separated her from the next convenient source of shelter; she’d be cut to ribbons before she got three paces. Her sidearm was still holstered at her hip, but that was just a pea-shooter compared to the Terminator’s Kalashnikov.
She was trapped.
The only consolation was the sound of alarms going off all over the camp. Church bells rung from the chapel steeple, signaling a full retreat. With luck, all those surprise evacuation drills would finally pay off, not that it was likely to do her any good. Molly hoped that Sitka was already making tracks from the camp, dragging Doc Rathbone behind her.
Wonder if Geir has made it to the plane yet.
The Terminator was only a few feet away when its AK-47 ran out of ammo. Unable to reload, it held on to the weapon anyway. A sharpened bayonet was mounted on the rifle’s smoking barrel. The eleven-inch blade was also an effective tool for termination.
Molly got ready to make a run for it. T-600s were slow and bulky; she might be able to get past it. Unless it was bluffing. Terminators could be tricky; she’d known T-600s to play possum during a battle, pretending to be out of commission in order to lure human targets into range. She wouldn’t put it past this one-eyed monstrosity to try to put one over on her. Make her think it didn’t have any bullets left.
Gotta chance it, though.
Before she could sprint out from behind the totem pole, however, the distinctive roar of a chainsaw drowned out the alarms. Ernie Wisetongue charged the invader, holding a whirring chainsaw above his head like a maniac in an old slasher movie. His sealskin parka made him look like Nanook of the North.
“Get away from there, you lifeless abomination!” he bellowed. His muscular arms were used to working with saws and axes. “You don’t belong here!”
Was he trying to rescue her, or just pissed off at the destruction of his sculpture? Molly didn’t know or care.
“Hit it on the left!” she shouted. “It’s blind in its left eye!”
Taking her advice, Ernie lunged to one side and angled the chainsaw at the Terminator’s metal vertebrae, hoping to decapitate the machine. But tooth-edged chain caught on an armored shoulder-plate instead. Kickback threw the business end of the chainsaw back into Ernie’s shoulder.
The artist shrieked and staggered backward. Dark venous blood painted his face incarnadine. He lost his grip on the chainsaw, which landed at his feet, just missing his toes. Ernie flopped over on the snow. He clutched his mutilated shoulder. Blood spurted through his fingers.
No! Molly thought, gasping in horror. Only hours ago, the avuncular sculptor had bestowed his blessing on Roger and Tammi, and—by extension—the entire community. Now he lay thrashing only a few feet away, another innocent victim of Skynet’s brutality.
Discarding the jammed rifle, she angrily drew her pistol.
Damn it! He’s worth a hundred of you monsters! She peppered the Terminator with small-arms fire. He had your number, you heartless fucker!
The bullets distracted the Terminator, who turned away from Ernie for a moment. The injured sculptor dragged himself across the bloody sawdust, taking refuge in a children’s maze composed of linked metal drums. He crawled into the tunnel before the T-600 could impale him with its bayonet. The machine chose to focus on the discarded chainsaw instead. Releasing the empty AK-47, it picked up the lethal tool. It limped away from the barrels without a backward look at the fine old man it had just maimed. Molly prayed that someone would get to Ernie before he bled to death. In the meantime, she found herself in the sights of the last thing she ever wanted to see.
A Terminator with a chainsaw.
Molly bolted from the playground. The Terminator lumbered after her. Now she had another goal. She just needed to make it uphill to the base of the breaker building, and hope that the lookout stationed there had stayed at his post, just like they’d drilled.
“Come and get me!” she taunted over her shoulder. “Terminate me! You know you want to!”
She crossed the main street and headed up the slope. The breaker mill, with its outdoor tramway, loomed above her. The raging fire below lit up the night, making it a little easier to see. A quick scan revealed no other Terminators in sight, so maybe they were dealing with just one lone straggler. Even so, the damn machine had done enough damage. She’d lost count of how many of her people the one-eyed monster had killed already.
Breathing hard, she glanced back over her shoulder to make certain it was still following her.
C’mon, tin man. Don’t give up on me now!
To her dismay, however, she saw that the T-600 had paused in the middle of the camp’s main drag. Further on down the road were the bunkhouses and infirmary. Molly could hear a noisy exodus underway, as desperate families hurried to escape with their meager possessions. Children were crying, while impatient voices shouted at them to keep moving. Trucks, buses, and snowmobiles braved the icy roads leading away from the camp.
The fire was spreading from building to building, adding to the refugees’ danger. If the Terminator didn’t get them, the smoke and flames might. Resistance soldiers fired from the upper windows, striking the T-600, trying to drive it away from the escaping families. Their wild shots bounced harmlessly off its exoskeleton.
Attracted by the commotion, the Terminator abandoned its pursuit of Molly. Turning to the right, it took a step toward the bunkhouses. The bloodstained chainsaw revved as if hungry for another taste of human flesh.
Molly thought about Tammi and her baby.
“Hey! Don’t turn your back on me!” she hollered at the machine, hoping to lure it away from the others. She jumped up and down, waving her hands, firing her pistol into the air. “Remember me? I brought that goddamn mountain down on top of you and your buddies! You want payback, Popeye? Well, here I am!”
She was wasting her breath. Terminators didn’t care about revenge. Taunting it wasn’t going to get her anywhere. All it cared about was scoring the maximum number of victims.