Reese noticed too. Warily, both men scanned their surroundings. The only Terminators in view were on the assembly line, motionless and incomplete.
Except for the one that had been pursuing Connor, which leaped free of the line as it threw itself at its target.
Thrown several feet backward, Connor slammed into the floor and winced as his left shoulder dislocated.
Rolling clear, Reese searched frantically until he spotted Connor’s grenade launcher. As he picked it up and fumbled with a load, he glanced up and saw Star’s eyes fall on the detonator for the C-4 cord. She was picking it up as Reese uttered a silent prayer that he had done everything correctly and pulled the trigger.
He was almost surprised when it struck the Terminator squarely in the back.
Approaching the prone Connor, the Terminator was knocked down the corridor. Rising to his feet and clutching at his shoulder, Connor joined Kyle and Star as they stumbled toward the empty elevator.
Though the elevator welcomed them, it was slow to react as Connor pounded on the switch.
“Come on, dammit!” Please, he thought anxiously. Don’t let it be another short. While they waited for the instrumentation to respond he swapped weapons with Reese, passing him the shotgun and taking control of the grenade launcher. “We gotta get to the Transports.”
As he spoke, his gaze fell on the fuel cell stacks that he and Reese had been wiring. Two of them stood ready. Studying the heap, he wasn’t sure it would be enough. As the doors began to close, he abruptly burst forward. Reese gawked at him.
“What are you doing?”
Connor looked back at the cage.
“I’ve got to end this.”
“I can’t just leave you!”
Despite the pain that was lancing through his shoulder, Connor grinned at the younger man.
“You didn’t.”
“Who are you?” Reese’s fingers laced through the wire of the elevator cage as it began to rise.
“John Connor....”
Behind him, the Terminator had recovered from the momentary interruption and regained its feet. Though the other two humans were now out of reach, their possible escape did not concern it. Its directive to kill this particular human overrode everything else. Once that had been accomplished it could then turn its attention to any ancillary programming.
Backing away, Connor turned and ran for the nearby stairs. They led to a catwalk. He didn’t know where it ended, but what mattered was that it led away from the elevator and the children. His face contorted in a grimace at the pain in his dislocated shoulder, he yelled back at his pursuer.
“Come on, you metal son of a bitch!”
Turning, he pulled his sidearm and emptied it into the oncoming Terminator. At close range, the slugs slowed but did not stop it. This time when Connor turned, he had no place to hide.
He tried to duck, tried to dodge, but the machine was far quicker than its predecessors and he was too tired and too hurt. Grabbing him by the neck with its remaining hand, it lifted him off the floor. Holding him motionless, it regarded him for a moment out of glowing red eyes. Then it tossed him over the side of the catwalk.
He landed hard on the ground below.
Leaping easily from the edge of the walkway, the Terminator followed. Picking him up, it threw him into a wall and held him there.
Connor smiled at the killing machine. Its face was close, the remorseless red eyes staring unblinkingly into his own. This moment had been a long time coming, across not only many years but many futures. The two of them, man and machine, were at last alone together.
“Go on then, asshole,” he said tightly. “Finish it. Do what you were programmed to do. Terminate.”
There was no reply, nor had he expected one. Drawing back its arm, the machine closed one hand into a fist. It seemed to pause for an instant—but that might only have been time slowing down in Connor’s mind.
The punch would penetrate the damaged flesh and bone, reaching deep enough to strike vital organs. The Terminator aimed its clenched hand to land directly over Connor’s heart.
The incipient blow never landed as the individual called Marcus Wright slammed into the machine from behind and sent it sprawling. Released from its grasp, an enfeebled Connor collapsed to the ground.
Righting itself, the Terminator whirled on its unexpected assailant. Sensors probed, circuits evaluated. After a moment, it turned silently back to the helpless human.
It managed only a single step before Wright, head lowered, let out a howl of defiance and barreled into it again, sending the two of them smashing through a wall.
Wracked with pain, Connor could only look on in amazement. It struck him as he watched the battle rage that the newcomer’s cry had been as much mechanical as human.
Reaching out, the Terminator locked its hands on its unexpected assailant. Wright promptly head-butted the machine, breaking its grip. Advancing, he struck out with a back left elbow, then a right. Swinging his right arm in a sweeping arc he delivered a tremendous blow to the Terminator’s skull. As it staggered he picked it up, spun around and slammed it into the floor, following it down with both body and fist.
They rolled, the Terminator coming out on top. Drawing back a fist, it punched directly downward, as straight and efficient as any pile-driving machine. Twisting, Wright just avoided the blow, which cracked the floor tiles. Frustrated, the machine lifted him off the ground, swung him around, and repeatedly rammed him into a standing I-beam.
Counter to programming, the target refused to shut down.
A metal fist pounded Wright’s chest, followed by a concrete block that shattered against skin and metal. A final blow sent him flying backward. Striking the I-beam one last time, Wright crumpled to the floor and lay—motionless.
Primary programming reactivated, the Terminator returned its attention to its principal target.
Connor, however, was no longer lying where he had fallen.
Up on the catwalk again, the Resistance leader gazed down to see Wright lying immobile and the T-800 searching, scanning.
Ducking back out of sight, he spotted the grenade launcher on the floor. Then came a voice, rising above the surrounding din.
“Connor! Connor, quick, help!”
Kyle.
Staggering toward it, he rounded a corner.
The Terminator was waiting for him.
“Connor,” it said one more time, in perfect imitation of Kyle.
Staggering backward, Connor drew his sidearm and fired again. The heavy slugs had the same minimal effect on the killing machine as they had before.
This time, he didn’t wait to be thrown. Having backed up to the point where he was closest to the launcher, he turned and went over the edge, continuing to fire up at his metal tormentor as he did so. Following, the Terminator was close behind.
Rolling as he hit, Connor grabbed up the launcher and backpedaled. He took careful aim at the oncoming machine. But he didn’t fire at it.
As soon as the Terminator was in position, Connor whirled and let loose with the last grenade at the finishing furnace. As he threw himself backward, the explosion sent a gush of molten metal spewing onto the Terminator below. Awash in fiery, glowing metal it maintained its steady advance.
Which was when Connor took his pistol and blasted away at the cooling pipe running across the room directly overhead.
Gushing outward and flooding the room, the indust-rial coolant contacted the layer of molten metal dripping off the Terminator. Lock-up was instantaneous. As the metal casing solidified around it, the machine slowed, kept coming, slowed. Reaching out, an arm extended toward Connor. Open fingers extended to grab hold and—stopped. One made contact, lightly, with Connor’s left cheek.