But not for much longer, Molly vowed. Not if I have anything to say about it.
The value Skynet placed on the ore was driven home by the transport’s daunting defenses. Not only was the armored juggernaut loaded with concealed weapons, but the supply train rated air support, as well. Molly ducked lower into the brush as a Hunter-Killer glided over the canyon. The steady thrum of the aircraft’s VTOL turbofans contrasted with the noisy clatter from the train tracks. High-speed impellers kept it aloft, and its ugly gunmetal exterior matched that of the train it was escorting. Usually HKs preceded the trains they were protecting; Molly guessed that this one had hung back to check on some disturbance prior to the tunnel. Maybe a noisy herd of caribou, or a falling tree.
Going into hover mode, the HK hung in the sky above the bridge. Powerful floodlights scoured the vicinity, on the lookout for human targets.
“Nobody move!” she whispered urgently. The HKs relied on infrared motion trackers to locate prey. The best way to escape their notice was to blend into the surroundings and not move a muscle. They had to be still as a corpse—or risk becoming one.
Geir and Sitka followed her example. Thank heaven for small favors!
A cold wind rustled the branches overhead. A glop of wet snow fell onto her head and shoulders, most likely dislodged by the passing of the damned HK, and she had to resist the urge to shake it off. Melted ice trickled down the back of her neck and it took all of her self-control not to shiver. Sandwiched between the frozen whiteness beneath and the freshly deposited snow on her back, it was hard to ignore the chill creeping into her bones. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Was it just her imagination, or had the harsh Alaskan winters gotten even worse since Judgment Day?
Nothing like a nuclear winter to let the air out of global warming. She couldn’t wait until spring. Assuming I last that long....
The Hunter-Killer wasn’t alone. Aerostats—slender football-sized surveillance drones with glowing red eyes at one end—buzzed around the train like mosquitos. Some scanned the track ahead of the train, while others darted amidst the bridge’s supports. A brown bear, fishing for salmon further downstream, attracted an Aerostat’s attention, and the mechanical sentinel buzzed down for a better look, scanning the startled bear with ruby lasers that transmitted a digitized profile of the animal back to Skynet. The bear reared up on its hind legs and swatted at the levitating pest, which expertly stayed out of reach of the massive paws. The animal was tempting fate by attacking the drone, but apparently Skynet judged it no actual threat to the train, so the Aerostat flew back up toward the tracks.
The bear went back to its fishing.
Molly filed the encounter in her memory. Now that the data was stored in the massive computer, would it be possible to use a bear costume to deceive Skynet in the future? It was something to think about.
Lord knows I wouldn’t mind being stuffed inside a toasty bearskin right now!
The train seemed to go on forever. Molly lost count of how many linked cars rattled over the bridge. Several minutes passed before the last one exited the tunnel. Its bullet-shaped nose matched the lead car at the other end. Evil red eyes watched behind as the train finally pulled away, disappearing into the wilderness that lay across the river. A swarm of watchful Aerostats chased after it.
The HK rotated in midair, sweeping the canyon one last time with its blinding floodlights, before rising to a higher elevation. Its turbofans tilted to the side as it flew south above the train tracks. Molly watched its airborne bulk glide away, defying gravity. The eerily weightless way they flew never failed to send a chill down her spine.
“Wicked!” Sitka started to spring up from the ground, but Geir held her down by placing a heavy hand between her shoulders. HKs and Aerostats had been known to circle back for a second look. “Yeah. Right,” she muttered.
Better safe than sorry, Molly mused silently.
She waited for the echoes of the train to fade away, then counted to fifty before sitting up and shaking the snow from her head and shoulders. She gave Geir and Sitka the all-clear sign, and the pair climbed to their feet. Geir brushed the snow from his jacket and heavy-duty denim jeans. Sitka acted oblivious to the cold. Molly sometimes suspected her of being part polar bear.
She hastily consulted her watch: an antique, spring-operated gizmo she had salvaged from the ruins of an old pawnshop. She preferred manual timepieces these days. It was easier to re-wind them than to try to scrounge up batteries.
“It’s 10:48 exactly,” she announced.
“10:48,” Geir confirmed, consulting his own watch. He cracked a wry smile. “Gotta hand it to Skynet. It’s got the trains running on time.”
Molly wasn’t inclined to give Skynet credit for anything. “So did Mussolini.”
“Muso-who?” Sitka asked.
No surprise that the teenager didn’t recognize the name. Only sixteen years old, the orphaned girl had no memory of life before Judgment Day, nor much in the way of an old-fashioned education. Nobody even knew what her real name was; Molly had found her living as a scavenger in the ruins of the town of Sitka over ten years ago, and that had become her name. She had literally grown up in the Resistance, having never known a world that wasn’t overrun by Terminators.
“Ask Doc back at the camp,” Molly said. Now was no time for a history lesson. “He’ll fill you in.”
“Never shut up either.” Sitka rolled her eyes. “Know how he is once he gets going ‘bout the old days. Borrrrring.”
Molly envied the teen her blithe disregard for the past. There were times she wished she could forget how good life used to be, before Judgment Day.
What I wouldn’t give for a vacation at a luxury hotel—or even just cable television.
Sitka didn’t miss any of that.
How could she?
“So that’s the infamous Skynet Express,” Geir said, changing the subject. “Pretty big train.”
“Ginormous,” Sitka agreed. She peered across the canyon, as though hoping to catch another glimpse of the evil locomotive. “Makes a Hydrobot look like an earthworm!” Eager green eyes sought out Molly. “So when do we blow it up?”
The uranium train was a tempting target. If the Resistance could somehow intercept it, not only would they disrupt the enemy’s supply lines, but they might also come away with valuable resources. Molly was sure the uniforms in Command could make use of some unprocessed uranium, not to mention copper, zinc, and other essential metals.
“Could be quite a haul,” she mused aloud. “Maybe put us on Command’s radar. Show them what we’re really capable of.”
Even though her small band of Resistance fighters had been waging a guerilla war against Skynet for more than a decade now, she often got the impression that the top military brass didn’t take citizen soldiers like her seriously. They got the occasional pat on the back, sure, but not much in the way of serious material support. Old-school Pentagon types like Ashdown hogged all the resources for their own troops.
It’s not fair, she thought, a familiar frustration raising her blood pressure. My people may have started out as loggers, park rangers, pipeline workers, refugees, and half-feral kids, but we’re all soldiers now, and have been since the first Russian bombs fell fifteen years ago. It’s like John Connor always says—if you’re still breathing, you’re the Resistance.