“Careful,” Kyle warned as he reached over and took it from her. The metal arm wasn’t just heavy—it was somehow pulling itself toward the Terminator’s shoulder.
The Terminator was trying to put itself back together.
Clutching the metal arm to his chest, Kyle leaned against the pull and managed to take a step backward. To his relief, the pressure eased, and the next step was even easier. Two steps more, and there was no pull at all.
He looked down at the arm that was pressed to his chest. So it wasn’t some sort of evil Skynet magic. It was just a simple electromagnet, or set of electromagnets, embedded inside the gleaming metal to help the Terminator reassemble itself if someone managed to blow it apart.
But apparently only if its severed pieces were close enough together.
“Yeah, I think we can do something about that,” Kyle muttered. Tucking the spare arm under his right arm, he reached into his bomb bag.
And twisted to the side as something shot past his face.
He ducked down, spinning around. Another Terminator had appeared in the far end of the alley, and was striding toward them with a piece of broken brick gripped in its left hand.
“Run!” Kyle snapped at Star, ducking again as the Terminator hurled the brick at him.
This time, the machine’s aim was better. The sharp-edged missile slammed into Kyle’s right shoulder, sending a stab of pain down his whole side. He threw the mechanical arm he was holding at the machine, then snatched out his Colt and fired a quick shot before turning and running for all he was worth. He caught up with Star at the alley mouth, grabbed her hand, and yanked her to the left. Another brick whistled past just as they made it around the corner.
The footing was better here on the street, allowing them to pick up their speed a little. Kyle glanced over his shoulder as they ran, wondering if the two Terminators who had attacked Nguyen’s men had also joined in this new hunt. But to his relief, the street north of them was clear.
So far.
He turned back around, gripping Star’s hand and trying to come up with a plan. The minute that second Terminator made it through the alley he and Star would be back in its line of fire. And this time, it might decide it would be easier all around to simply shoot the two of them down.
Which meant Kyle had to find them a hiding place.
Or else he had to find someone more worthy of getting shot at.
Despite his fatigue and fear, he felt a tight grin touch his lips. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could do both at the same time.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Connor was going over the approach plan with David’s group when he heard the faint sound of gunfire.
“Quiet!” he snapped.
The room went instantly silent. Everyone froze, all ears tuned toward the distant noise. It was coming from a single weapon, Connor decided, probably a large-caliber handgun. There was a pause, just long enough for the shooter to change clips, then more shots, then another pause.
And then, abruptly, the first gun’s reports were buried beneath a cacophony of new gunfire.
Connor listened intently, trying to sort out the types of weapons being fired. Most were handguns, but he could also hear the deeper roar of rifle fire in the mix, along with the distinctive boom of shotguns. Across the room, the sentry opened the door a few centimeters, bringing the sounds more sharply into focus.
And then, briefly overwhelming even the noise from the guns, came the thud of an explosion.
Connor looked at Kate, seeing his own tension mirrored in the tightness of her face. Gunfire—
even this much gunfire—could be gang warfare or even ordinary residents defending their property and lives.
But very few people, gangs included, threw bombs at each other these days. The people who knew how to make such devices usually saved them to use against the Terminators.
“Could they have started already?” Kate murmured tautly.
“God, I hope not,” David murmured back. “We’re not ready yet.”
The echoes of the explosion faded away, and as they did so the gunfire itself abruptly ceased.
Connor strained his ears, even though he knew that the brief battle had been too far away for them to hear any moans or screams from the wounded. If there were, in fact, any wounded still left to scream. Into the silence came the sound of a second explosion, followed a few seconds later by a third, this one louder than the first two had been.
And then, silence again returned.
“Anyone get a direction on that?” Connor asked, looking over at the sentry. “Vincennes?”
The other shook his head.
“If I had to guess, I’d say it was somewhere to the east,” he said. “But there’s so much echo off the buildings I couldn’t tell for sure.”
Connor looked back at Kate, then turned to David.
“Opinions?” he invited.
“It wasn’t Terminators,” Barnes put in before David could speak. “They weren’t the ones shooting, anyway.”
“I agree,” David said. “You can pick those miniguns of theirs out of a crowd any day of the week.”
“True,” Connor said. “But not shooting doesn’t necessarily mean not there.”
“It was a sentry line,” Kate said quietly, a look of understanding appearing on her face. “Skynet has closed off the neighborhood.”
Connor nodded heavily. Someone, maybe that group of men and burros who had passed them awhile back, had tried to get out of the neighborhood and had been stopped.
“Which means we don’t have until tomorrow night, like we’ve been assuming,” he said. “We have until tonight.”
He looked around the room, watching as their expressions went from stunned to overwhelmed, and then to hard and cold and determined. They were a good team, and a tough team. If anyone could pull this off, Connor knew, they could.
It was Tunney who officially put it into words.
“We’ll be ready,” he said.
“Then let’s get to it,” Connor said. “Tunney, David: get your teams and gear together. Leave any spare equipment or food you were saving for later—we’re traveling light. Final coordination run-through in ten minutes.”
He gestured to Barnes.
“As for you, your mission’s just been changed. Collect your team and meet me in the corner.”
Orozco was outside Moldering Lost Ashes, walking the building’s northern perimeter, when he heard the sound of distant gunfire.
And there was no doubt—none at all—as to what it meant.
Oh, God, he pleaded silently. Please, no. Not Kyle and Star.
He stood motionless, a cold breeze whipping dust through his hair, listening as the single gun became many, then none, then became three explosions that he knew had to be the bombs he’d given Kyle.
And then, silence.
Ninety seconds later, Orozco was back inside, hurrying across the lobby toward Grimaldi’s office.
Wadleigh and Killough were standing outside the door, talking together in low voices. They looked up as Orozco approached.
“The chief’s busy right now,” Wadleigh said, holding up a hand.
Without slowing down, Orozco strode between the two men, deflecting Wadleigh’s hand with his forearm as the other made a belated grab for him. Twisting the knob, he shoved open the door and stepped inside.
Grimaldi was busy, all right. He was talking very quietly, very earnestly, and very closely with Candace Tomlinson, the seventeen-year-old girl from the food dispute that morning. Both of their heads snapped around as Orozco stormed into the room, identical expressions of chagrin flashing across their faces.