At the base of this mountain of silent metal, flames blossomed, a flickering red-orange rose of heat holding back the night chill. Wright fed it another log and it leaped gratefully into the cold air.
Friend of man, foe of man, Wright mused as he watched the blaze spit sparks skyward. It had always been so, would always be so even after man was gone.
Which, if the murderous machines had their way, would not be long in coming.
Lying on the ground, he shifted his attention from the fire to his companion. The pile of scavenged logs and kindling wasn’t the only presence close to the machine that was giving off heat. It didn’t take long for her to notice that his gaze had become fixed.
“You’re staring, Marcus. Thinking about your past?”
Unaware that his concentration might have strayed into the realm of the impolite, he blinked and turned away.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a while since I spent any time around someone who wasn’t,” he hesitated briefly before finishing the confession, “scared of me.”
Using a long stick she stirred the embers, wishing they had something worth cooking. Marshmallows, she thought. And polish sausage. Might as well wish for crème brulee and chateaubriand while she was at it.
“After seeing how you handled those three drifters I can understand why some folks might cross to the other side of the street when they see you coming, but I don’t scare easy. Besides, we’re not alone out here. We have a chaperone.” She patted the heavy butt of the Desert Eagle, now restored to its proper place in the holster hitched to her service belt.
“Maybe you’d be scared if you knew more about me.” Lying flat on his back now, he regarded the stars that were starting to peep through the shifting cloud cover.
“Like what?” The heat from the fire was making her sleepy.
“I was in prison. Before.”
She set her stir stick aside and turned her attention from prodding the fire to her suddenly pensive companion.
“Didn’t know they had any left.” When he looked sharply at her, she added, “What did you do? Usually when someone talks about having spent time in prison, they’re not referring to their long career as a guard.”
He took some time before replying.
“I shot a cop.”
She took more time before responding.
“You have a good reason?”
It clearly wasn’t the comeback he had been expecting.
“Not the first question people usually ask.”
“Normally it wouldn’t be the first one I’d ask, either, Marcus. But you came back to help me, back at the racetrack. Something about you doesn’t add up, doesn’t make sense. I can’t figure it, and so I can’t figure you. One thing I do know: you saw those three nomads and they didn’t see you. There was nothing to stop you from slipping away into the night and leaving me to have to deal with them. You could simply have left.”
“Thought about it,” he told her with brutal honesty.
“But you didn’t,” she hastened to point out. “You came back to help me, a stranger, at considerable risk to yourself.”
“Not so much risk.” The way he said it made it sound like the most normal assessment in the world, devoid of even a hint of bluster.
“You came back,” she reiterated, “when most people in your position would not have done so. People are different now, Marcus. In case you hadn’t noticed, the world is a little different now, too. Just to give you one example, I sure as hell never thought I’d be a fighter pilot.” She contemplated what had become of her life.
“Before, if you killed somebody, that usually made you a criminal. But in this world, all it means is that you’re probably a good shot.”
***
This world, he thought. What had happened to the world while he had lain unconscious? He still had no idea how much time had passed or what had turned machine against maker. It hurt his head to think about it.
“You know, Marcus,” she murmured, “we can focus on what is lost. On what is past. Or we can fight for what is left.”
He turned to face her. “You think people get a second chance?”
“I do.” She clutched at herself. “I’m a little cold.” Without waiting for an invitation, she crawled over next to him. Drawing back, he eyed her uncertainly.
“Relax.” She smiled gently. “I just need some body heat. I’ve got low blood pressure, for one thing.”
That was certainly a possibility, he told himself. He mustered a half-hearted grin as she lay down against him, resting her head on his ribs.
“I can hear your heart beating all the way through your chest. Man, you’ve got a steady heartbeat!” Remembrance muted her words. “My dad had a Harley. An old softail he restored all by himself. Whenever things got tough at work or whenever he had a fight with my mom, he’d go to the garage, work on that bike, and everything would be good again. He’d let me ride on the back sometimes, even when I was little. We would pull up to a stoplight and I could hear his heart thumping along, keeping rhythm with the engine. Funny, isn’t it? We’re in a war to the death with machines, and here I am thinking affectionately of a machine. I miss that.” Raising her head from his chest, she looked up at him. “What do you miss, Marcus?”
He thought back, hunting through his past for a good memory. It took some time.
“Me and my brother, we’d steal a car. Didn’t matter what kind: old, new, domestic, foreign. Van or sports car. We’d just go, fast as we could, ’til the gas ran out or the cops caught up to us. Nearly killed ourselves I don’t know how many times. Didn’t matter. We’d laugh ourselves silly. I can still see him going crazy when I’d try to make this impossible curve or we’d turn the wrong way down a one-way street. We’d still be laughing when the cops would slap the cuffs on us, ’cause we knew we’d shared something special.” Realizing he was rambling and that he was starting to lose himself in a past forever gone, he forced himself back to the present.
“What happened to your father? He crash out on the bike?”
She shook her head sadly.
“No. That would have made him happy, to go out that way. He was an airline mechanic. Jet engine specialist.” She smiled and a tear started from the corner of one eye. She wiped it away angrily, as if it was some kind of intruder into her private life. “He loved the noise engines made, but I guess you already figured that. All the big airports and related maintenance facilities were taken out in Skynet’s first strike.” Finding another tear forming, she hastened to change the subject.
“What about your brother? Was he killed on Judgment Day?”
“No.” Any hint of happiness vanished from Wright’s face as his mood darkened visibly. “He died—before.”
Intending to press him for details, she changed her mind fast when she saw his expression. The talk and the lateness of the hour were combining to shrink her span of attention. In spite of herself, she yawned.
“That other world, it’s all gone. All—gone.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Thanks for saving me back there. Don’t meet too many good guys these days.”
His tone did not change. “I’m not a good guy.”
“Sure you are. You just don’t know it yet. You know the only good thing about the end of the world? Whatever you were, whatever you did—doesn’t matter now. That world is gone.” Snuggling closer to his bulk, she dropped her head back onto his chest.
“You get to choose who you want to be.”
He looked down at her, not moving. Not wanting to disturb her. It was a strange feeling. He was used to disturbing people—often violently. Not this time. As she fell asleep against him he let his head ease back onto the ground.
It had stopped raining. Overhead, the sky was clearing, and the stars were coming out.