“No, not at all,” Vincennes assured him. “Doesn’t matter anyway. You’ve been pulled off hunting and paired with Callahan for special scavenger duty. You know Rob Callahan, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Kyle said, a sudden lump forming in his throat. “We lived together in Los Angeles.”
A flicker of something crossed Vincennes’s face.
“Oh—right. The Moldavia Building.”
“Yes, sir,” Kyle said again, looking sideways at Star. She was gazing down at her tray, her eyes staring at and through the food there. Probably thinking, just as he was, about that one, terrible day.
The day when Kate Connor had come calling at their colony of refugees in the former Moldavia Los Angeles building. The day that Rob Callahan, Zac Steiner, and Leon and Carol Iliaki had all answered Kate’s call for Resistance recruits. The day that Kyle and Star had also left, sent off by their friend, mentor, and protector Sergeant Justo Orozco.
The day the Terminators had come and killed everyone who was left.
“Sorry,” Vincennes said quietly. “Sorry, Star. I didn’t mean to bring up memories. It’s just—” He nodded toward the line of refugees. “We’ve gotten so many new people over the past week that I sometimes lose track of where they all came from.”
“It’s okay,” Kyle said. “What are we scavenging?”
“The debris from last night’s Terminator attack,” Vincennes replied, looking relieved to be back on less painful ground. “We had a team out early this morning making sure they were all dead, and they reported a lot of ammo the machines hadn’t had a chance to use. Bill Yarrow and Zac Steiner are going out to collect everything they can find, and I want you and Callahan out there with them.”
“Okay,” Kyle said, pleased they were trusting him with that kind of job. Ammo was always in short supply, and the Resistance needed every bit of it they could get. “You want us to scavenge the guns, too?”
“No,” Vincennes said. “The team said it was all G11s, plus the minigun the T-600 was carrying, and they’re all way too heavy for you to lug back on foot. You see something that’s still in decent shape, tag it and we’ll send a jeep to collect it later. Your job is just to get the ammo.”
He gestured toward the armorers’ station that was Star’s current assignment.
“Pick up some backpacks when you drop off Star. Yarrow, Steiner, and Callahan will be meeting you at the south checkpoint, and you can head out together.”
“Should we take any weapons?” Kyle asked.
Vincennes shook his head.
“Grab a shotgun if it makes you feel safer, but you’re well within the daytime perimeter, and that area’s already been swept. You’ll have plenty of weight to carry on your way back as it is.”
“Yes, sir,” Kyle said.
Vincennes’s eyes drifted over Kyle’s shoulder to the line of hungry refugees.
“And while you’re out there, keep an eye out for anything that might mark a food depot.”
Star pressed against Kyle’s side, and even through all his layers of clothing he could feel the shiver that ran through her small body. Both of them had vivid memories of being herded together in this place with the rest of Skynet’s human captives.
“Skynet wasn’t feeding anyone very much,” he muttered.
“No, but it was giving them something,” Vincennes said. “Whatever the machines had stashed away, we want it.”
“Understood,” Kyle said, pushing back the memories.
Vincennes dug into his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper.
“Yarrow has the whistle for your team, but he’ll need the code for that part of camp—I forgot to give it to him. It’s a little different from the one the hunter teams use, so have him check it before he whistles anything.”
Kyle took the paper. He didn’t mind the whistle code nearly as much as some of the others. Barnes, for one, made no secret of his disgust with it. But even Kyle was starting to question its efficiency.
“Any idea when the radios will be up and running again?”
“About two minutes after we find out where the damn interference is coming from,” Vincennes said sourly. “And don’t bother volunteering to blow it up when we find it. I’ve already got a waiting list.”
Star tugged at Kyle’s sleeve, and he looked down. What does the noise machine look like? she signed.
“It’s probably not an actual machine,” Vincennes said when Kyle had translated the question. “More likely just a high-voltage short-circuit that’s creating big, noisy sparks. Probably some big underground motor that was damaged enough to leak current but still has enough connection to a power supply that it hasn’t run dry yet.”
Star tugged at Kyle’s sleeve again. Maybe it’s not an accident, she signed. Maybe the machines are trying to keep John Connor quiet.
“Could the interference be deliberate?” Kyle asked Vincennes. “Star thinks Skynet may be trying to keep Connor’s broadcasts from getting out.”
“Oh, Skynet wants to stop his broadcasts, all right,” Vincennes agreed. “You can bet a week’s meals on that one. But you can’t do that by flooding the airwaves with interference at the source. Your jamming needs to be at the receiver’s end, not the transmitter’s. Or so the tech guys tell me.”
He looked out at the devastated landscape around them.
“No,” he went on. “As soon as Connor feels well enough to start broadcasting again, he will. Nothing Skynet does has ever stopped him before. It’s not going to stop him now.”
“I hope you’re right,” Kyle said, thinking back to that single broadcast that he, Star, and Marcus had heard back in Los Angeles. “The people out there need to hear him.”
“They will,” Vincennes promised. “Very soon.” He gestured at Kyle’s half-empty plate. “Eat up, and get to work. Connor’s not so weak that he can’t still kick your butt halfway to L.A. if he catches you loafing.”
The fireball that had consumed Skynet Central had barely faded away when Connor ordered his Resistance team in for search and clean-up duty. In the middle of all that barely controlled chaos, Star had been scooped up by the mess tent people and assigned to dishwashing duty.
That job had lasted exactly two hours, the length of time it had taken Kyle to find someone to listen as he described Star’s skill at disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling firearms. The woman had taken Star to the armorer station for a test, and fifteen minutes later the mess people were back to looking for a new dishwasher.
This morning the armorers were as busy as always, stripping, cleaning, and repairing the group’s impressive array of firearms. Kyle got Star settled behind her usual table and helped her get all her cleaning fluids and cloths arrayed in their proper places around her work area. He collected four backpacks and then, just because he didn’t feel right without it, also picked up a sawed-off shotgun. Slinging the weapon over his shoulder, he headed for the south checkpoint.
Callahan and Zac were waiting when Kyle arrived, along with a smallish man Kyle didn’t recognize.
“You Reese?” the man asked as Kyle came up.
“Yes, sir,” Kyle said. “Sorry if I’m late.”
The man grunted. “Bill Yarrow. Pass out the bags, and let’s get started.”
“Yes, sir,” Kyle said again, eyeing Zac as he handed each of them a backpack. He hadn’t seen the thirteen-year-old since the day Zac and the others had walked out of the Moldavia Building. But the months he’d spent with Connor since then had clearly been good for the kid. Like Callahan, Zac was harder, leaner, and more muscular than he’d been back then. Better fed, too.
“First pass will be to pick up the live ammo,” Yarrow said as he looped his backpack over one shoulder. “If we’ve still got space, we’ll go back and collect as much empty brass as we can carry. Clear?”