They were in luck. The hole opened into a deep dropoff, deep enough that the faint light trickling down from the broken pavement above them showed no sign of a bottom. He couldn’t see if there was any place for them to stand, or whether they would have to hold on to concrete or rebar until the Terminators went away. But at least they would be out of sight.
He hurried back to the others.
“It opens into some kind of pit,” he reported. “I can’t tell how deep.”
“You’ll have to chance it,” Yarrow said firmly, wincing in pain. “All of you—down the rabbit hole. Now.”
“Just as soon as we get you out,” Callahan insisted.
“It’s too late,” Yarrow said, his voice suddenly as cold as death. “Besides, they’ll see the backpacks. They’ll know someone’s here.”
“I can cut them down,” Kyle offered, reaching for his knife.
And froze. Yarrow had drawn a Colt from inside his jacket and was pointing it squarely at Kyle’s face.
“I gave you an order, Reese,” he said. “It’s too late for me. It’s not too late for you. Get your butts into hiding.”
“But—” Callahan began.
“Because you have to get back alive,” Yarrow cut him off. “The machines aren’t digging this damn tunnel for the fun of it. It’s heading straight for the camp. You’re the only ones who can warn Connor.”
“We can’t just leave you,” Callahan said, his voice pleading now.
“You have to,” Yarrow said. “Besides, it was my stupid mistake. I’m not going to have you paying for it.” He waved the gun. “Now go, before I have to die with your deaths on my conscience.”
Callahan’s face was screwed up like he was going to cry. But he jerked his head in a nod.
“Go,” he told Kyle.
A few seconds later, they were at the gap.
“I’ll go first,” Callahan said, sitting down on the edge of the hole and sliding his legs through the gap. “See if I can find some footing.” Half turning, he dropped down into darkness.
Kyle looked back along the tunnel, at Yarrow leaning against the wall, the Colt in his hand pointed down the tunnel toward the heavy footsteps Kyle could now hear coming toward them.
“There’s a ledge,” Callahan called softly from the hole.
Kyle tapped Zac on the shoulder.
“Go.”
The younger teen dropped and maneuvered himself into the opening. Again Kyle looked over at Yarrow, suddenly aware of the shotgun tucked into his waistband. If he and Yarrow together had enough firepower to disable the machine— “Reese?” Callahan whispered.
“Reese, move it,” Zac hissed. “They’re almost here.”
Kyle caught his breath. They?
And then, abruptly, the approaching footsteps seemed to leap into focus. Zac was right—there wasn’t just one set there, but several.
Turning back to the gap, he hurriedly slipped his legs into it. One Terminator they might have been able to handle. But not a group. All Kyle could do from Yarrow’s side, with or without the shotgun, was put his death on Yarrow’s conscience.
His head was still above ground when he caught a distant glimpse of red Terminator eyes around a bend in the tunnel.
Flinching, he ducked down, nearly losing his balance as his feet hit the narrow ledge and almost slid off. For a second he fought for balance before Callahan and Zac grabbed his sleeves and steadied him. The edges of the hole itself were jagged and broken, with twisted pieces of exposed rebar on the underside of the slab. Kyle got a grip on one of them—
Just as the boom of Yarrow’s Colt thundered through the tunnel.
He tensed, squeezing the rebar hard. There were two more shots, then three more in rapid succession.
And then, silence.
Kyle looked beside him at Callahan. The other’s face was tight, his mouth working wordlessly. Zac, on Callahan’s other side, had his face pressed against his upper arm as he held tightly with both hands onto the rebar. The silence stretched like a piece of old cloth...
And then, Kyle heard the footsteps start up again.
He felt his throat tighten. Had the machine he’d glimpsed as he dropped into the hole spotted him, as well? Yarrow should have been blocking most of the Terminator’s view, but with Terminators you never knew. The footsteps came closer... closer... reached the hole...
And passed by without breaking stride.
Kyle stole another look at Callahan. He was facing up and over his shoulder, his eyes focused on something back there. Kyle followed his line of sight, and spotted the faint shadows passing across the hole as the Terminators filed by.
There was a long line of them. T-700s, Kyle guessed, from the clink of bare metal on the concrete above them. Several had gone by before it occurred to Kyle that he should probably be counting the shadows. Another eleven of the machines made it past after he started his count.
Finally, the last one passed, and the sound and vibration of their footsteps faded away. “Eighteen,” Zac breathed, his voice trembling. “There were eighteen of them.”
“Where do you think they were going?” Callahan asked.
“You heard Yarrow,” Kyle said. “The tunnel’s heading into the camp.”
Callahan muttered something under his breath.
“Come on,” he said, shifting his grip to the edge of the tunnel floor. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Hold it,” Zac said suddenly, grabbing his hand and pulling it back down out of sight. “There’s more coming.”
Kyle froze, holding his breath as he listened. A few seconds later, he heard the metallic footsteps again headed in their direction. He looked up at the wall, waiting for the shadows to appear.
A minute later they did.
Only this time they were heading the opposite direction.
Kyle peered up at the shadows, a risky plan starting to take shape in the back of his mind. He had no idea what kind of peripheral vision T-700s had, and sneaking a single eye out of cover to see what was going on could conceivably get all three of them killed.
But Zac had counted eighteen Terminators in the last pass. If he was right, and if this was the same group heading back again...
He waited, counting until the eighteenth came by. The footsteps changed tone—it was indeed the last one in line. Shifting his grip on the rebar, Kyle eased his head up for a quick look.
It was a T-700, all right. But instead of the usual submachinegun, it was carrying a huge, jagged chunk of concrete. Kyle threw a quick glance behind it, confirmed there weren’t any more machines, and craned his head up a little higher.
He was only able to see the last three Terminators in line. But that was enough. All three of the machines were lugging pieces of broken concrete or twisted metal.
Kyle lowered his head again. Callahan and Zac were looking at him questioningly, but he shook his head, nodding toward the retreating line of Terminators.
Once again, the sound and vibration of their footsteps faded away.
“They’re not attacking the base,” he murmured to the others. “At least, not yet. They were carrying pieces of debris. Big pieces.”
“Debris?” Zac asked.
“Debris, as in they’re still digging,” Callahan said. “That means we’ve still got time.”
“The big question is how far they have gotten,” Kyle whispered. “The front of the tunnel can’t be too far ahead, not with that quick a turnaround.”
“Unless this was a different group,” Callahan pointed out. “There could be two shifts running, with some place up there that’s wide enough for them to pass each other.”
“But this doesn’t make any sense,” Zac objected. “How can Skynet be running Terminators with all the radio interference blanketing everything out there? Skynet uses shortwave to communicate with the machines, right?”