Walking over, she glared down at him.
“That’s so you don’t follow us.”
Whimpering as he clutched at his badly damaged lower leg, Turnbull stared up at her.
“Follow you? What, do you think I’m insane?” His frightened eyes shifted to the silent, menacing figure of Wright. “Follow that?” A long howl of pain bubbled up from the back of his throat. “You’ve crippled me! Kill me now and don’t leave me for the scavengers.”
Returning from searching through her gear, she looked down at him in disgust.
“You’re not crippled. You’ve lost blood and muscle.” She tossed him gauze and an Ace bandage. “There’s plenty of wood here. Make yourself a damn crutch. If I’d wanted to cripple you I’d have blown up your knee, not your gastrocnemius.”
He gaped at her. “My what?”
She shook her head in revulsion, glanced briefly at the unblinking Wright.
“What a specimen. There are times when I think I might prefer the machines to my own kind, if only they weren’t so dead-set on exterminating all of us.” She returned her attention to the sniveling Turnbull. “I’m letting you live and leaving you stuff to treat your wound because you’re right. Killing you isn’t going to win us this war. Might improve the species, but at this point in time every body is a welcome one. Think about that while you’re healing.”
One by one, Wright picked up the intruders’ weapons and checked to make sure they were empty. Searching each body thoroughly, he recovered all their live shells, stepped outside, and tossed them as far as he could into a copse of trees that was growing by one edge of the track.
“Leaving you unarmed, might as well hand you over to the machines right now.” He spoke to Turnbull while off to one side his surviving companion cradled his shattered arm and rocked back and forth. “When you can get up, you can go look for your ammo.” He leaned over, forcing Turnbull to shrink back from the other man’s murderous glare. “You said you’d be insane to follow us. Here’s your chance to prove it. And keep living.”
Straightening, he turned to Williams.
As soon as she finished dressing and buckling her service belt back on, they started out. Her shrapnel-struck shoulder ached, but it could have been worse. Much worse.
The rain was starting to let up. Williams said nothing, she just kept looking back to make sure none of their attackers was limping toward the trees where Marcus had flung their bullets. Wright did not look at her once, but when his attention was focused elsewhere, she kept stealing glances at him. She was careful not to let him catch her looking in his direction. She did not really know him yet, and she did not want him to see the unbridled gratitude that she knew must be suffusing her face.
CHAPTER NINE
With the coming of night, most of those trapped inside the Transport were overtaken by exhaustion compounded by fear. One by one, they lapsed into weary sleep. Those who were not exhausted collapsed from despair. Of the few who remained conscious, their wakefulness was largely motivated by hunger or thirst.
Subject to none of these and driven by determination, Kyle Reese was working his way from one end of the extensive compartment to the other; questioning those who answered readily, badgering those who were reluctant to respond. He was hunting for hope, but would gladly have settled for a grenade.
Pausing before a man huddled off by himself, he leaned forward and asked the same question he had been putting to everyone else who was still awake.
“You have any weapons?”
His eyes glazed, the man looked up at him and muttered derisively.
“You think if I had any weapons I’d be sitting here doing nothing?”
Reese took no umbrage at the man’s response. He was bitter and despondent, and had every right to be. The teen persisted.
“Anything in your pockets that we might be able to use when we land? A pen, a paperclip, anything?”
A little of the man’s sullenness fell away.
“Sorry. I know you’re only trying to help, but I have nothing. My family....” His voice trailed away and his gaze dropped to the floor.
Reese left him, moving back toward the other end of the Transport compartment where Virginia was talking quietly to Star.
“How about a song?” the older woman murmured to the little girl. “Can I sing you a song? Has anyone ever sung to you?”
As was her wont, Star replied only with her eyes. They provided the sad answer that Virginia had suspected. She smiled tenderly as she queried Reese.
“Why doesn’t she talk?”
“’Cause the machines took her voice away. Scared her out of talking. The things she’s seen....” His voice trailed away.
The older woman’s voice was tired but willing, just as the words she sang were deep-rooted and hopeful. Some things never go out of fashion, never lose their appeal. Among these are certain lullabies.
When the last verse had trailed away, the older woman reached out with both arms.
“Come here, darling.”
Walking slowly forward, Star allowed Virginia to lift her up and set her down on her lap. The older woman smiled down at her.
“Do you know there are more than a billion stars in the sky? And every one of them is special. Just like you. And do you know what makes them so special?”
Thoroughly engrossed now, Star shook her head “no.”
“Because each one of them comes with a wish. What do you wish for, Star?”
The girl thought a moment. Then she used both hands to mimic an explosion and followed it with a “peace” gesture. Virginia nodded and pulled her close, rocking her back and forth.
“Me too, babe. Me too.”
Having worked his way down one side of the compartment, Reese started back along the other. His queries there brought him no more information or useful material than they had on the other side, but he persisted. He had nothing else to do anyway. Once, he halted before some tiny openings and tried to see outside. All he managed to catch were a few brief glimpses of earth and sky, neither of which was very enlightening.
Continuing up the line back toward the front of the prison, he came upon a young woman wedged against the cold metal. The compartment was not heated and she was shivering, her hands trembling as she tried to keep the baby in her arms warm.
Peeling off his gloves, he handed them over to her. Her expression as she took them said more than words. In gratitude and wanting to reciprocate, she picked up a small bag with one hand and dumped its contents out on the floor where he could see them. He shook his head, declining the offer. There wasn’t much to see anyway. Some cotton puffs, Q-tips, a comb with half its teeth missing, an incongruously intact lipstick, a lone shoelace....
His eyes widened slightly and he pointed at the shoelace. Grateful and pleased that she was able to give back, she pressed the length of fabric into his hand.
It was all he was able to glean from his questioning, but it was better than nothing. On the face of it, it would not be of much use against even the smallest of the fighting machines. But over the years he had learned not to despise even the smallest potential weapon. As he rejoined Virginia and the now sleeping Star, he carefully tucked his prize into his shirt. Then he settled down to listen to the older woman sing.
Her lilting voice brought back memories he had thought forever forgotten.
It seemed an incongruous place to seek shelter for the night—beneath a machine. But the rusting hulk of the huge constructor had never possessed an independent mind, had never been tormented by consciousness. Its driverless cab flaunted levers and wheels, buttons and dials. It had been manufactured before the age of malevolent self-awareness circuits and devious communications parsers. Without a human driver it could do nothing, and consequently was perfectly harmless.