She racked her brain to come up with something that would do the trick, that would instantly move her to the top of the machine’s to-do list—but what? Inspiration failed her.
What would John Connor do?
All at once, it hit her.
“I know where John Connor is!” she lied. The legendary freedom fighter was supposed to be Public Enemy Number One as far as Skynet was concerned. His propaganda broadcasts had been inspiring the Resistance for fifteen years now. People even said that he was some kind of prophesied hero, destined to lead humanity to ultimate victory over the machines.
Rumor had it the machines had been trying to kill Connor since before Judgment Day. Molly wasn’t entirely sure she bought all that, but maybe Skynet did?
“You want John Connor?” she said, her voice raw from shouting. “Come and get me. Make me talk!”
That got the thing’s attention. It forgot all about the evacuation efforts further down the road, and refocused its sensor on Molly instead. Chainsaw in hand, it stomped up the hill after her, away from the children and other fleeing humans. Molly knew it would gladly take her apart piece by piece, to find out what she knew.
So now she just had to keep away from that chainsaw. Spinning, she took off again in the direction of the mill.
Running uphill was no fun, as her lungs burned in her chest, but she had adrenaline to spare. There was nothing like a Terminator on your heels to add a little extra spring to your step. She reached the base of the breaker in record time. To her relief, the flames hadn’t yet reached the mill itself. The multistory wooden structure rose in tiers against the side of the mountain. The tramway—a large wooden chute that climbed at a fifty-degree angle all the way to the top—resembled an amputated segment of an old roller-coaster. The bottom of the chute didn’t reach the ground; it hung suspended like a ski ramp about seven feet above the snow, held aloft by thick wooden beams and posts.
A rope ladder hung from the end of the ramp. Molly stuck her sidearm back into her belt and scrambled up onto the tramway, then hauled the ladder up after her. Smooth wooden planks, coated in ice and snow, challenged her balance. Her eyes searched the top of the tramway, which was shrouded in darkness. Decades ago, when the mine was still operating, a conveyer belt had carried the raw ore up the tramway to the top of the mill. These days, the ramp had been converted into Alaska’s biggest booby-trap.
Assuming there was still someone left to trigger it.
“Skid row!” she shouted ahead, warning the lookout to get ready. Who was stationed there tonight? Vic Folger? The thirty-five year-old African-American, who had once coached high school soccer in Wasilla, was a dedicated foot soldier. Hopefully, he’d still be manning his post.
“Skid row!”
A flashlight blinked once at the top of the tramway.
Good, she thought. We’re set then. She crossed her fingers. If they were lucky, the Terminator wouldn’t know what had hit it. The timing was going to be tricky, though. They only had one shot at this. We need to make it count.
“Here I am!” she called, goading the T-600 as it climbed the hill after her. “Don’t keep me waiting! John Connor!”
The sight and sound of the whirring chainsaw gave her second thoughts about acting as bait. Ernie Wisetongue’s grisly injury flashed through her mind. It took all her nerve not to scramble to the top; instead, she stood a couple of yards above the bottom of the ramp, while her blood-splattered pursuer drew near.
She waited until it was lined up with the chute before throwing herself over the side. Her fingers grabbed onto the raised wooden edge.
“Now!” she yelled to Folger. “Let it rip!”
An axe chopped through a rope several yards above her head. A greased log the size of a full-grown pine came skidding down the tramway. Hauling the 1400-pound piece of timber to the top of the ramp then hitching it in place had been a back-breaking chore that had taken the better part of a day several months ago. More than one guerilla had nearly lost a limb before they got the trap set up. Would all that labor pay off?
They were about to find out.
The battering ram gained speed as it slid down the chute. Clinging to the side, her legs dangling high above the ground, Molly hoped to God that the log wouldn’t sideswipe her fingers on its way down. It raced past her, zooming straight at the Terminator.
Molly grinned in anticipation of the collision to come.
That avalanche didn’t stop you? she thought grimly. Let’s try again!
But the T-600 wasn’t going to be taken unawares—not twice. At the last second it threw itself forward, falling face-first into the snow in front of the ramp. The log whooshed over the prone Terminator, passing several feet above the murderous machine. It flew like a missile through the air before smashing into a repair shop downhill from the breaker. Wood and glass splintered loudly as the log tore through the smaller building before coming to rest somewhere inside.
Molly prayed nobody was still inside, even as she cursed herself for underestimating the Terminator’s reflexes and ability to recognize a trap. When was she going to learn? The hulking machines were smarter than they looked.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
The Terminator got back on its feet, still gripping the chainsaw. There would be no second shot from above.
Grunting, Molly hauled herself back up onto the tramway. The chainsaw restarted below her, dangerously close to her dangling legs.
Move it, she told herself, while you’ve still got legs to lose. She pulled first one foot, then the other over the side of the chute. The close call had left her heart pounding. She took a second to catch her breath.
The Terminator stomped loudly beneath the tramway, several feet below.
“Hurry!” Folger called out to her from atop the tramway. “Up here!”
A second voice urged her on as well.
“You heard him! Shake a leg!”
Who? Molly thought. Was someone up there with Vic?
Before she could place the voice, the whirring blade of the chainsaw tore through the floor of the tramway like the fin of a great white shark. The tooth-edged chain was only inches away from her and getting closer. She realized that the T-600 could sense the heat of her body through the bottom of the ramp. The chainsaw cut through the wooden floor like it was made out of plywood.
Uh-oh, Molly thought. As a child, before Judgment Day, she had seen a magician cut a woman in half. The magician had put the woman back together again afterward. Somehow she doubted the Terminator knew that trick.
Finding her footing, she scrambled up the tramway, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and the chainsaw. T-600s weren’t climbers; it was doubtful it could scale the ramp to come after her. She just had to get out of reach of the saw, then figure out what to do next. But what was Plan B?
The icy slope was steep and slippery. Molly needed both her hands and legs to clamber toward the top. The Terminator yanked back the chainsaw once it realized she was too high up to reach from the ground. Molly thought she had it made, until she heard the chainsaw chewing into the wooden support posts. The entire structure lurched beneath her, throwing her to the side.
She lost her footing and started to slide back down the chute. Her fingers dug into a crack between two loose planks, arresting her fall before she lost too much ground. A wooden post gave way loudly. Broken beams crashed to the earth below. The tramway swayed back and forth like a drunken snake.