“Do it, you son of a bitch!”
Functioning but unable to move its limbs, the Terminator stared at him.
Wiggling clear, Connor edged around the frozen machine and stumbled toward the inert body of Marcus Wright. Searching the walls, he found a panel, opened it, and tore live cables free from their connections without a thought for his own safety. Sparks jumped. More flew as he jammed the open leads against Wright’s body.
“Come on! Move!”
Intent on Wright, he did not see the Terminator move behind him. Did not hear the slight cracking noise as frozen metal flaked free from its arms, its torso, its legs.
Absorbing the fury of the cables, Wright’s body jerked once, twice. Connor opened his mouth to offer further encouragement—but nothing came out. Staring blankly, he slowly lowered his gaze. A metal bar was protruding from the lower portion of his chest.
Eyes flashing open, Wright grabbed the bar and rolled. Standing above Connor, he pulled the bar free, turned, and as the machine charged, drove it forcefully into the Terminator’s neck. Grimacing into the staring red eyes, he twisted the bar sharply.
A metallic squeal came from the Terminator’s head as it flew off. It bounced a couple of times before coming to rest against a far wall. For the first time, its eyes were blank.
Picking up the severely injured Connor and placing him over his right shoulder, Wright headed for the nearest exit.
Appearing out of the darkness outside the processing plant, a pair of T-600s began firing into the throng. Screaming, the freed prisoners tried to scatter. Then one of the machines came apart, shredded by heavy-caliber machinegun fire. Its companion was decapitated as a flurry of heavy shells tore into its upper body.
The spotlight from the helicopter played over the crowd as the chopper set down. Flanked by Barnes and a small but determined clutch of soldiers, Kate Connor stepped out onto the surface of Skynet Central.
Using the cover provided by surviving Resistance aircraft, they had managed to make their way into the compound by flying low and fast.
Running to a downed prisoner, Kate bent over the woman.
“Can you hear me?” Lifting her head, she yelled back in the direction of the chopper she had just exited. “Chris, Chris! She’s hypovolemic. Start a line.”
Rising, she found her attention drawn to nearby conversation. Confronting an attentive Barnes, an anxious young man holding the hand of a small girl was gesturing frantically in the direction of a blazing building.
“John Connor’s in there! John Connor’s in there!”
Hearing his words, Kate rushed over to join them, her attention shifting between the youth and the sergeant. She cried out.
“Barnes, Barnes! Find him!”
“I will.”
It was not necessary for her to ask. It was what they had come for.
The sergeant checked the tracker he was carrying. Linked electronically to the one Connor had used to find Kyle Reese, it had enabled the chopper to get the rescue party this close. From here they would have to proceed on foot, to try and extricate Kate’s husband. Commandeering two of the soldiers who had piled out of the helicopter behind him, Barnes led them off into the darkness.
Finding herself alone with the two children, Kate shepherded them toward the waiting helicopter.
“Who are you?”
“Kyle Reese.”
She stared at him, then led them on board.
“Come on. Are you injured?”
“I’m okay.” Reese smiled at her—but then his attention was back on the factory he and the little girl had just fled.
Kate’s spirits remained down until Barnes and Marcus Wright appeared. Between them they were supporting a bruised and badly injured figure. The man’s wounds were disfiguring, but through all the blood and bruising she still had no difficulty recognizing her husband.
“John!”
They laid him out gently in the back of the helicopter. As her eyes traveled over the length of his battered, tormented body she gradually realized the full extent of his wounds.
“John!”
He didn’t respond. She told herself that his injuries, while severe, were not life-threatening. They couldn’t be. She would save him. She had to save him.
Barnes was hovering nearby, dividing his attention between the domestic drama immediately in front of him and the crowd of prisoners who continued to mill about on the outskirts of the factory. Those who had started to run, to try and hide themselves in the far reaches of Skynet Central, were now returning, drawn back by the sound and light of the idling chopper.
“How the hell are we going to get all of these people out of here?”
A voice sounded from inside the helicopter. It was weak, but still commanding.
“Transporter,” Connor gasped. “There are some parked between here and the bridge. I hacked the nearest one. Overrode the receive and command component.” He fumbled at a pants pocket. “Here—bypass unit....”
Stepping toward him, Barnes took the compact device. Their hands made contact, just for an instant. The sergeant smiled down at the Resistance leader.
“I’ll do it. You hang in there, Connor.”
The man on the floor tried to nod, could not, and managed only the faintest of smiles.
Turning away from him, Barnes gestured to the remaining soldiers. Following the sergeant out of the helicopter, they raced toward the nearby field where the motionless Transporters were parked. Finding the one Connor had indicated Barnes saw right away that it was big enough to do the job. He only hoped it held enough fuel. As he entered the unsealed craft and made his way toward the control pod, his men began to organize the survivors and lead them to the waiting craft.
Back in the chopper, Kate Connor yelled forward. Up in the cockpit, Blair Williams nodded understanding and turned her full attention to the controls. Overhead, the whine of the engine rose. Then it began to spit. A hissing sound made itself heard above, over the noise of the fleeing crowd.
Williams uttered a curse, added more loudly, “Something’s wrong with the turbine!”
Leaning out the open side of the aircraft, Wright peered upward. Spraying from a stray bullet hole, hot fuel was running down the side of the helicopter, sizzling as it struck the metal. Some of it hit him in the face. Casually, he wiped it away, along with part of his cheek. Reaching up, he deliberately slapped a hand down over the puncture. Steam rose around the edges of his fingers.
“Try it now,” he suggested calmly.
Williams complied. The turbine hesitated, coughed, and began to spool up. Rotors began to turn, accelerated, picking up speed.
In the back, Connor continued to flit in and out of consciousness.
“Charges,” he mumbled. “We set charges. But the detonator—there was a fight. Leave me here. Need to find it, set it off—after you’re out of range.”
Screams sounded from outside. Something massive and monstrous was coming toward them out of the night. Single-minded as it advanced on the chopper, the Harvester ignored the remainder of the crowd that was piling into the waiting Transporter.
Leaning out of the opening, one hand still clamped righteously over the hole that was leaking fuel, Wright reached across the gap with his free hand. Exhibiting strength prodigious even for him, he hoisted up the door gun in his other arm and took aim at the approaching machine. Finding the trigger, he let loose a mad barrage of shells. Tearing into the oncoming Harvester, they shredded section after section, until one shell finally struck something volatile.
The big machine whoomed skyward, bits and pieces of it raining down on the remaining survivors.
Parts of it landed on the factory. Hissing and sparking, they also struck the ground in the vicinity of the legless but indomitable Terminator that had just crawled clear of the building. Searching its surroundings, its crimson gaze settled on a nearby helicopter. Dragging itself along the ground, it started determinedly toward the idling aircraft. But the chopper was already lifting off, rising above the devastation beneath it, leaving only destruction, flames, and a single pair of hate-filled red eyes in its wake.