***
Connor wasn’t the only one familiar with the maze that was the base. The need to be aware of potential escape routes in the event of an overwhelming attack by Skynet obliged everyone who lived or worked there to memorize as many entrances and exits as possible. In any event, Williams knew that the ventilation shaft could only run in two directions—back into the silo or out into the open air.
She and Wright halted at the end of the shaft, using the outer vent cover to shield themselves while they scanned the surrounding grounds. The terrain here was different from what they had encountered in the course of their original disastrous attempt to enter the base. Low scrub gave way quickly to forest. Thick clouds scudded across the sky, blocking what little starlight reached the ground. Perfect for an attempt at flight. At least, it was for Wright, whose night vision was preter-naturally sharp. Even so, he was less than sanguine about the prospect.
He studied the line of trees.
“We’re not going to get out of here.”
“But you can,” she told him. “Now that you know what you’re capable of.”
He looked at her, trying to read her expression in the near darkness.
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
She shrugged, smiled slightly. “A lot of things in this world bother me. You deal with them or you go mad. This happens to be my way of dealing with this.” Her gaze met his. “Of dealing with you.”
He considered. “What if Connor and the others are right about me?”
She stared back. “What do you think about you?”
“I don’t know.” He turned away. “I don’t know what to think.”
Reaching out, she put a hand on his arm, felt metal where skin and clothing had been blasted away. Where another might have recoiled at the contact, she did not.
“That doesn’t sound like a machine reaction to me, Marcus. Machines don’t equivocate. They always know exactly what to think. In contrast, you sound very human.”
His voice dropped. “Thanks. Small consolation, I guess.”
“Better than none.” She indicated the surrounding forest. “You’d better make your move. The whole outer perimeter will be crawling with patrols any minute now.”
He started forward, paused to look back at her.
“What about you?”
Another shrug. “A little treason, that’s all. How bad can the punishment be?”
He knew the answer to that even if she didn’t want to admit to it. Reaching out, he took hold of her forearm.
“Come on. We’ll discuss your prospects later.”
Having commandeered the first rejuvenated Blackhawk that was armed, fully fueled, and available, Connor took the swift chopper up and headed toward the area where he expected to find the escapees. Almost immediately, something rose from the treetops in the vicinity of the silo and sped southward. Tracking it with the chopper’s infrared spotter, he took aim—and held fire. Unless the thing called Marcus Wright was capable of greater transformations than he had thus far demonstrated, the soaring shape was exactly what it appeared to be.
Connor could have blasted it anyway, just to be certain, but chose instead to let the startled great horned owl continue with its interrupted nocturnal hunt.
The helicopter was heavy with a full load of ordinance; everything from rotating mini-guns to napalm canisters. When they reached the location Connor had designated, he cut speed. They began to circle the forested area by the river, sometimes slowing to a hover, as he searched for movement below.
When Wright punched through the protective grid that covered the outside of the shaft, he and Williams emerged onto one of the concentric minefields. They knew immediately they were in the midst of a minefield because when it hit the ground the heavy cover he had knocked to one side set off one of the subterranean explosive devices. If Connor and the others back inside the base were still uncertain as to their location, that oversight had now been inadvertently rectified.
No shots came screaming in response. No one had seen them—yet.
Flares lit up the minefield. In response, Williams dug once more into her bag of tricks. The spool of detonation cord she produced was slender but powerful. Unreeling all of it, she rose and heaved it forward. Implanting the detonator, she turned her head away from the opening and depressed the igniter. One mine immediately blew skyward, setting off another next to it. Within seconds it seemed as if every mine in the immediate vicinity was going off. Without waiting to see if that was indeed the case and ignoring the dirt and debris that was now raining down on them, they rushed out of the vent and headed for the temptingly close line of trees.
***
On the ground, pursuing troops who had emerged from the base tried to separate the fleeing figures from the erupting smoke and chaos. Doing so in broad daylight would have been difficult enough. At night, anything taller than a rabbit could be mistaken for a human. Additionally, care had to be taken so they did not shoot each other.
Notwithstanding the lousy conditions, several thought they had the fugitives in their sights. They had been told, if it was at all possible, to try and take the prisoner alive. Or functional, as the official order had put it.
For one squad of hunting soldiers, it appeared as if the smoke- and noise-filled environment was not going to present a barrier to success. Having spotted the stolen clothing the prisoner was reported likely to be wearing, two of them managed to jump the jacketed figure while the others stood back and took careful aim, just in case.
The immobilized individual struggled hard but was unable to throw off the determined fighters. Rolled onto its back with the two husky soldiers pinning its arms to its sides, it smiled up at them.
Right jacket, wrong wearer.
A sergeant glared down at the prone, pinned shape.
“Where is he?”
Williams pondered the question, stalling for time until one of the glowering fighters pointedly chambered a round in his weapon and aimed it at her.
“Oh yeah,” she declared, as if just remembering something. “Said he had to run.”
***
The intention of the soldier on the motorcycle that was speeding along the single narrow path was to locate the escaped prisoner and deal with the creature himself. He got his chance, though not exactly in the way he intended. Bursting out of the trees, Wright struck the rider in full stride, knocking him clean off the bike’s seat. The two figures went one way, the errant cycle the other.
Rising, Wright hurried toward where the bike was lying on its side, its wheels still spinning. It appeared to have survived the crash with only cosmetic damage. This did not trouble the escaped prisoner. He had no intention of taking it on parade.
Its dismounted rider had other ideas. Rolling from the impact and rising to his feet almost as quickly as Wright, Barnes pulled his pistol and began firing steadily. Marksman or not, taking potshots at a stationary target suspended in good lighting was not quite the same as trying to hit something fast and powerful that was weaving its way toward you in the depths of night. What shots did hit home bounced without harm, as they had previously, off Wright’s increasingly exposed hybrid body.
An increasingly panicky Barnes tried to steady his aim long enough to get off a shot at Wright’s eyes, but by then the other figure was on top of him. Wrenching the weapon away, the former captive threw the lieutenant to the ground and aimed the powerful handgun. Faced with imminent death, Barnes raised a hand in futile defense and half closed his eyes. Wright’s finger tightened on the trigger—and relaxed. Waiting for the shot that didn’t come, the lieutenant finally opened his eyes again.
Wright was standing directly over him, the gun still clutched in his right hand. Reflexively, Barnes’s eyes dropped to the pistol as he considered his options.