Geir opened up the throttle and zoomed into the valley.
A glance at his wristwatch gave him the time. 10:45. Molly would be going into action any minute now. He mentally blew her a kiss. The unorthodox engagement ring remained snug in his pocket, next to his heart.
Don’t get yourself killed, chief. I’m still working on my next proposal....
The Hunter-Killer kept after him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Screw Command, Molly thought. We don’t need their help.
Operation Ravenwing was underway. She stood along the bank of the river, in the shadow of the looming trestle bridge, as Tammi Muckerheide rigged the explosives according to Doc Rathbone’s painstaking calculations and her own demolitions training, attaching blocks of C-4 and blasting caps to key points upon the bridge’s concrete piers and timber struts.
She was sitting astride a wooden truss, about ten feet above the frothing rapids that swirled below. Unlike the shallower stream by the camp, the swiftly moving river hadn’t frozen over entirely. If Tammi slipped and fell, the current would carry her away in an instant.
“How’s it going?” Molly asked impatiently. A freezing wind whipped down the canyon, slicing at her face. She hugged herself to stay warm, and tapped her toes against the rocky shore. Her toes were going numb inside her mukluks, except for the missing one, which itched incessantly.
She peered up at Tammi.
“We’re running out of time.”
“Almost done,” the younger woman promised, double-checking a wire. A note of weary exasperation could be heard in her voice. Nimble fingers tucked the last wire into place. “There we go.”
Molly moved in closer and inspected the young widow’s work. To disguise the explosives from snoopy Aerostats, they had painted them white and coated them with imitation snow made from talcum powder, glue, and laundry soap. Except for a heaping load of dynamite, which had been stuffed into the rotting carcass of a dead grizzly bear that one of their hunting parties had found not far from their old camp. The stinking corpse was heaped at the base of the bridge’s northern abutment. Transporting the dead bear via dog sled had been a stomach-turning task, but hopefully it would fool the Aerostats. Skynet’s levitating spy-eyes were ingenious, but they weren’t equipped with chemical bomb-sniffers.
So far as we know.
Sitka poked the bear with her toe. She wrinkled her nose.
“Stinks to high heaven.” The fidgety teen was fascinated by the grossness of the carcass. An overstuffed schoolbook bag, bearing the faded logo of some forgotten heavy-metal band, rested upon her shoulders. Unkempt red hair blew in the wind. Fuzzy pink earmuffs muffled her hearing. “What d’you think happened to it? Looks like its heart got punched clean through!”
Molly didn’t know or care what had killed the grizzly.
“Leave that alone,” she admonished. Extracting handwritten notes from her own pack, she checked the placement of the explosives against Doc’s specifications. Everything seemed to be in the right place.
And not just the bombs.
Tom Jensen stood guard, shotgun in hand, watching the preparations alongside her. The bearded lumberjack was tense and alert. His arm was no longer in a sling. The rest of her people were hiding in the surrounding woods and cliffs, along with every last one of their sled dogs. Lookouts were stationed in the hills, keeping their eyes peeled for machines. It was the first time the entire cell had assembled in one place since the battle at the mill, but it was hardly a happy reunion.
Everyone remembered what had happened at the pipeline expedition, and that was supposed to have been a milk run. This was unimaginably more dangerous. They knew the Skynet Express wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
We’re going to lose some people tonight, Molly realized. Maybe a lot.
In fact, she had been surprised at just how many freedom fighters had volunteered—despite Tammi’s poignant appeal in their meeting.
Guess I’m not the only idiot who’s aching to get back at Skynet, after all, she thought. So what if that asshole Ashdown turned us down? We’ll show him—and the damn machines—not to underestimate us.
Tammi scooted across the horizontal strut, then shimmied down a pole and safely onto the shore. She scurried across the beach to where Molly and others stood, one of her hands clutching the baby bump. She thrust a handheld detonator into Molly’s open palm.
“All set, chief. Just push that button and... boom!” Her eyes were hard and cold. Molly could practically feel the murderous fury radiating off her, like the exhaust from a bloody chainsaw. “I can’t wait to see that metal monster take a fall!”
“Me too,” Molly admitted. “Good work.”
She checked her watch, squinting at it in the gloom. She’d made sure to wind it the night before.
10:40.
In theory, Geir would be in the air by now. They’d embraced right before he left for the glacier, groping and pawing each other hungrily just in case it was the very last time. She started to wonder if she would ever see him again, then caught herself. She couldn’t think like that during a war. Otherwise she’d never get out of bed.
He knows what he’s doing, she assured herself. He’ll be fine.
The PDA vibrated in her pocket, paging her. She checked the illuminated screen. According to the lookout posted on the other side of the tunnel, the train was on its way.
“Right on time,” she muttered. “Let’s hear it for machine punctuality.”
She texted a one-word message back to the lookout: HK?
NEGATIVE, the lookout replied.
Molly permitted herself a slight smile. Thank you, fly-boy. It sounded like Geir had come through for them on his end of the operation. She pinned an imaginary medal on him. You pull this off, maybe I won’t laugh at you the next time you propose.
She wouldn’t say “yes,” mind you. She just wouldn’t laugh.
“All right, folks!” she barked. “Train’s coming.” She gestured toward the shadowy woods. “Move your butts!”
They scrambled up from the beach into the hills overlooking the canyon, putting plenty of distance between themselves and the sabotaged bridge.
“Hurry!” A quavery voice called out to them from further up the slope. Doc Rathbone’s grizzled head popped up from behind a fallen tree trunk. A voluminous Goretex parka, patched in several places with silver duct tape, had practically swallowed his emaciated frame. He beckoned to them anxiously. “Don’t let them see you! Or you’re going to get us all terminated!”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She didn’t often bring the crazy old coot into the field with them, but she figured they’d need Doc’s computer expertise to crack into whatever vaults held the uranium ore. Molly, Tammi, Sitka, and Jensen joined him behind the snow-covered log. They dropped to their bellies, keeping low and out of sight.
Tracks rattled inside the mountain tunnel. They could hear the train in the distance.
“Listen to that,” Rathbone whispered. He shuddered at the sound. “You know, there was a time when I thought trains were the only way to travel. The romance of the rail. The iron horse. I remember this lovely rail excursion I took from London to Bath once. Lush green scenery racing past my window while I enjoyed a good book. Met this delightful English couple in the cafe car....”