Brock sipped his tea and waited for them to continue. When they didn't he put his cup down and looked between them. "And your patients?" he said at last. "What happened to them?"
Mary looked down into her tea. "This thing came out of the woods and shot them."
Brock looked at her for a moment, then glanced at Reese, who nodded. The survivalist sighed. "What you just saw," he said,
"was what's called a Hunter-Killer. HK, for short. It's a machine designed to hunt down and kill any human being; high-level robot brain, built-in weapons, fuel-cell power supply."
The two just stared at him. Reese pulled his jaw up, hoping he didn't look as poleaxed as Mary.
"Have you ever heard of Skynet?" Brock asked.
They nodded. "The DOD super-computer," Reese said.
"Well, Skynet isn't just a computer anymore. It's sentient, and it's decided that we're its enemies and that it's got to kill us all.
It's taken over all the automated factories and has them turning out machines like the one you saw. And since the military foolishly turned over all of its computer functions to Skynet, that computer now controls our military. It's been sending out all kinds of orders and directives.
"Not just supposedly from the army and so forth, mind you, but also from the civilian leadership. Which, like the upper echelons of the military, no longer exists." Brock stopped and let them take it in.
"How can you be sure of that?" Reese asked.
Brock leaned back with a sigh. "All those VIPs ran to all those hardened bunkers, leaving you and me and the rest of the world to deal with Armageddon while they waited it out in cushioned comfort. Unfortunately for them, the same fools that gave Skynet control of all the weapons also gave it control of such minor functions as the life support for those same hardened bunkers."
He started to chuckle, then waved a hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh. But I always did kind of resent those guys."
"Me, too," Mary said. Reese glanced at her in surprise.
"Further," Brock continued, "none of our fearless leaders has actually been seen. We've heard broadcasts on the radio advising us to keep up our spirits and to report to the camps, but they've never visited any camps." He leaned forward, wagging a finger.
"And I betcha if you asked around in the military, nobody's seen any generals, either."
Reese sipped his tea and reflected that he had been thinking that things weren't as organized as they should be. More like you'd expect World War II to have been.
"The big worry now," Brock said, "is that Skynet actually has human allies. Deluded fools who think they're saving the earth by depopulating it. They're under the impression that they'll get to live in bucolic splendor. But actually, as soon as it has enough machines, Skynet'll be killing them, too."
He pointed at Mary. "So you heard right, little lady. They probably did start that epidemic. And you two"—he gestured between them—"must have rocked the boat somehow, so they want you both dead. So, if you do go back to the relocation camp and try to tell them this story, which the innocent won't believe anyway, they'll just pack you off to 'central command' again.
Only this time the guilty will send some of Skynet's human helpers along to make sure you don't get away next time."
Dennis and Mary thought about it.
Finally Mary shook her head. "But we have to do something,"
she said. "Someone is deliberately poisoning people in the Black River Camp. We can't just sit by and do nothing. How can we fight this if we just hide out?"
"Okay," Brock said. "Say they catch these guys red-handed putting their poison in the water, or however they're spreading it. What happens next?"
Dennis shifted uncomfortably. "They'll contact HQ and lay out their case."
"And HQ will do what?"
"They'll have the prisoners and the evidence and maybe even some of the witnesses sent to, uh, central command," Mary said.
"Never to be seen again," Brock concluded. "Look, people, you've done your best by warning them about what you overheard. Now you have to decide where your efforts will do the most good. We're gaining strength here all the time. A lot of army and National Guard guys have joined us because of things they've seen that convinced them something skanky is going on."
"Deserters," Dennis said grimly.
"Can you desert an organization that doesn't really exist anymore?" Brock asked.
"We have no evidence of that," the lieutenant protested. "An absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence."
Brock studied him silently. "I shouldn't do this," he said. "But I've got a feeling about you two." He stood up. "C'mon with me, I want to show y'all something." With a gesture he included Mary.
"Have you ever heard of Sarah Connor?"
Dennis blinked. "Yeah, she made an announcement before the bombs fell, telling people what was going on."
"So you believed her?" Brock said. He'd led them into another room of the cabin.
Reese rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I guess I did. Maybe not everything she said."
"Not at the time anyway," Brock said with a grin. "She's a very smart lady. I won't bother you with how, but she knew this was coming. So she recruited us, she financed us, and she taught us everything she could to help us survive. Let's be honest, folks; if you don't believe her now then you're in denial."
He pressed a series of knotholes in the paneling and a section of flooring swung up silently. Mary looked down into the hole where a wooden ladder disappeared in the darkness.
"What's down there?" she asked. "The Batcave?"
Brock laughed at that. "The Batcave. I like it. Go on down; the lights will come on automatically when you get to the bottom."
Mary just looked at him suspiciously, so Dennis went first. As promised, when his foot touched the dirt floor, a light went on. It was dim, but serviceable. Down a short corridor was a metal door; on the doorpost beside it was a keypad. Mary came down next, followed by Brock.
He led them along the short corridor and, blocking the keypad with his body, keyed in a code. The lock gave and he opened the door. They found themselves in a small, well-lit room containing a computer, a desk and chair, a file cabinet, and a young man of perhaps seventeen.
"My son, Ray," Brock said. He nodded at the boy and the door behind the desk clicked open. Brock led them through.
This time the room was long, narrow, and low ceilinged. The walls seemed to be plastic, as did the ceiling, the whole braced with metal. There were computers and what looked like communications equipment everywhere. About twenty people looked up at their entrance, men and women both, with men in the majority. Nobody seemed to be over forty; that may have been because everyone looked very fit.
"As you were," Brock said, and the small crowd went back to work. He turned to Mary and Reese. "What you've stumbled into is the resistance. Most people don't realize yet that we need one.
But after what you've seen, after the way you were handed over to that HK, you have to know that your place is with us, fighting against Skynet."
MONTANA
The landscape rolled around her, huge beyond imagining.
Sarah Connor felt like a bug on a plate as she roared south along 1-3; sometimes it seemed like the gray-green immensity of grass around her was moving while she stayed motionless. She was glad to be away from the towns—away from the stink of death, too, except for the odd victim of the first wave of the machine uprising, and the coyotes had cleared most of that away. Mostly the air was clean, dry, a little chilly for this time of year, but otherwise normal.
But things aren't normal at all, she thought grimly.
Cattle in a nearby field looked up and started to lumber away as she passed; she felt an obscure sadness at realizing that they'd become wary of humans and human sounds so quickly.