He’d figured it out. Kyle couldn’t hope to stop even one Terminator with his shotgun, not with its remaining three shells, not even at point-blank range. The one, single chance any of them had of slowing down the deadly invasion—
“Go on, get back!” Kyle shouted.
Callahan didn’t bother to answer. He turned and said something to Zac, and Kyle saw the younger teen shake his head.
“Zac!” Kyle shouted. “Get back.”
And then, to Kyle’s chagrin, Callahan put on a burst of speed, pulling ahead as he charged the Terminators.
“Callahan!” Kyle shouted.
But it was no use. Callahan was bigger, older, and faster... and as he’d been willing to sacrifice himself earlier, he was now determined to take this mission on himself.
Kyle clenched his teeth. Fine. If Callahan wanted to get himself killed, Kyle couldn’t stop him.
But even if Callahan managed to jump on the half-emerged Terminator, any hope of pinning it down would last only as long as it took the first T-700 to pick him up and toss him off.
Maybe Kyle could do something about that.
He would use two of his remaining shells on the Terminator’s arms. Then he would throw himself at full speed against the machine’s torso, with luck knocking it over onto its back. If he was still alive at that point, he would fire his final shell up under the Terminator’s chin, in the direction of its braincase. Maybe a pellet or two would get through the metal and damage one or more of the motor control lines leading to the machine’s limbs.
Callahan was a good five paces out in front now, and flicking his eyes to the side Kyle saw that Zac was also starting to pull ahead.
And, to his surprise, Kyle felt a grim smile crease his lips.
There had been times, back in Los Angeles, when he’d wondered about this far-away Resistance he’d heard so much about. He’d wondered whether he and Star would ever link up with it, and if they did if it would be worth his allegiance.
Now he knew. If Connor and the others could inspire men like Callahan and Zac to make the ultimate sacrifice, this Resistance was indeed worth Kyle’s allegiance.
His allegiance, and his life.
The T-700’s red eyes glittered as it contemplated the three reckless humans bearing down on it. At least it wasn’t armed, Kyle thought with an odd sort of emotional detachment. That was something, anyway. His thoughts flicked to Star, and he wished briefly that he’d had a chance to say good-bye to her. But the others would take care of her, he knew now. The Resistance took care of its own.
And then, five meters in front of him, Callahan suddenly slowed, his head turning up and sideways. He snapped his arms out to both sides.
Kyle was just starting to wonder if Callahan’s courage and determination had somehow failed him when the T-700 standing in front of them abruptly disintegrated in a burst of dimly heard automatic gunfire.
Kyle twisted his head around. There, swooping in on them like an avenging angel, was a Resistance helicopter, its door-mounted machineguns blazing away as it spat destruction at the two Terminators.
A second later, Kyle stumbled into Callahan’s outstretched arm. A second after that, he found that same arm wrapped around his shoulders as Callahan gripped the two of them, Kyle on one side, Zac on the other, with the released tension of a man who has just faced certain death and then had that doom snatched from him.
Kyle had cheated death too many times, him and Star, to go all sentimental that way. Still, his knees were suddenly feeling a little weak. Probably because he hadn’t had anything much to eat since breakfast.
The chopper set down near the demolished Terminators. A half-dozen men armed with heavy weapons jumped out and headed to the machines’ rat hole to see what else might be lurking down there.
And waiting behind them in the chopper, her face bright with relief, was Star. She raised her hand toward Kyle and the others and waved.
Kyle waved back... and as he did so, the tension of the day started to fade away, leaving only fatigue, hunger and thirst.
But that was all right. Because they’d made it through, and John Connor was safe.
And all was finally right with the world.
* * *
The area around Bear Commons wasn’t the best battlefield position Barnes had ever seen. Even so, there were a good half-dozen places in and around the clearing’s rim that should work well enough as defensible positions.
Skynet had other ideas. Barnes and Preston had just reached a big rock outcropping right at the edge of the clearing, when Preston spotted the broken T-700 dragging itself determinedly through the grass toward them. They stumbled from behind the rock to a wide tree trunk, only to have the Terminator change direction and again launch itself into a slow-motion charge.
Three moves later, the damn thing was still chasing them.
It would be easy enough to simply blow the machine back into its component parts and be done with it. Barnes had no doubt that Skynet was hoping he would do exactly that.
But Barnes knew better than to give in to that temptation. They had Barnes’s rifle and the Terminator G11, with only around forty-five rounds left between the two weapons. Barnes had no intention of spending any more of them on a T-700 that was already half broken and of no serious threat. Not with Jik still skulking around somewhere out there in the woods.
Barnes frowned into the gathering darkness. Back when they were by the wrecked cabin and had been distracted by the T-700’s attempted sneak attack, Jik had tried one of his own, running toward them across the clearing. He’d backed off when his ploy failed, but the fact remained that Skynet had sent him into enemy fire without hesitation.
And why not? He was a Theta, very tough, very hard to kill. He’d already taken on Halverson’s hunting force, after all, and killed all of them.
So why was he still hanging back instead of going on the offensive? Had Skynet actually calculated that Barnes could take him out with forty-five rounds before he could kill the two of them?
Or could something have happened that had suddenly made Jik’s survival more important than it had been earlier?
That question was obviously on Preston’s mind, too.
“You think he went back to where he killed everyone to look for a better weapon?” he murmured.
Barnes shook his head. “If there’d been any working guns back there, he would already have them.”
“What about bows?” Preston countered. “Maybe he went back to get one of those.”
Barnes grimaced. That one hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Yeah, good point,” Barnes grunted. “Well, whatever he’s got, my guess is that he’s waiting for full dark. You’re the expert hunter—how close could he get to us without us hearing him?”
“Probably not too close,” Preston said. “But if he’s got a bow and some arrows, he can probably get close enough.”
And then, faintly in the distance, Barnes heard a familiar sound.
“We may not have to find out the hard way,” he said. “Hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That,” Barnes said, nodding his head to the southeast and the sound of a Blackhawk’s rotors. “That’s Williams in our chopper.”
“It may be your chopper,” Preston said ominously. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean Williams is the one flying it.”
Barnes scowled, a flicker of doubt darkening his new confidence. Could Preston be right? Could that be Lajard and Valentine in there, coming in to pick up Jik and head off on whatever new killing spree Skynet had planned?
The moment passed. Williams had gone to get the chopper, and she was better than that.
“Don’t worry, it’s her,” he assured Preston, looking upward at the camouflage canopy. It had been starting to open before the H-K wrecked the cabin, but it was still mostly in place above the clearing. “The big question is whether she’s going to be able to find us.”