T2 - 01 - The New John Connor Chronicles - Dark Futures (2 page)

"Stay here," he said in a whisper. "I'll be back."

He found a broken half-brick in the car park, quickly used it to break the driver's side window, and reached in to unlock the door. He threw his backpack into the rear compartment, then fumbled to hotwire the ignition. His heart was pounding as seconds went by. At last he got the car going, shifted it into drive and crawled it back to the alley, leaving its headlights off.

"I'd better drive," Sarah said. "You're going to look suspicious. They might not notice me."

"Okay. Cool. Let's get going, then." Someone was pounding from inside the building.
Too late, amigo
, John thought as he wriggled across to the passenger seat.

Sarah maneuvered her injured leg into the vehicle, groaning slightly, but then she was fine. She drove out of there slowly and quietly, turning on the lights only when she reached a narrow service road. "You may need to drive later," she said. "Once we're out of the city."

“
No
problemo
."

She turned right into the service road, then took another turn at a set of traffic lights.

"You know where we are?" John said.

"Yeah, I think so." Two turns later, they were on the freeway to
Anaheim
.

At Miles Dyson's home earlier that evening, when they'd planned their "raid" on Cyberdyne, Sarah had raised an issue about logistics. "We'll need the Bronco afterwards," she'd said. "We shouldn't risk it at the Cyberdyne site."

John had grasped the point immediately. If they kept using stolen cars, they'd leave a trail-sooner or later, the police would track them down. Where the police were, the T-1000 was never far away. With its shapeshifting abilities it could easily infiltrate them.

The T-800 had turned to Miles. "We need your car."

They'd packed their weapons and explosives into the
Dysons
' Range Rover, then given Tarissa the keys to Enrique
Salceda's
Bronco. Tarissa had named a hotel in
Anaheim
for them to contact her when it was over.

Now they cruised past the hotel, checking out its location. They parked one mile away in a dark back street. If someone reported the Honda missing, John and Sarah wanted it found as far from the hotel as they dared leave it. At the same time, they could not risk walking more than a mile. They were both hurting. John felt bruised all over, like someone had stuffed him in a sack and bashed him against a wall for the fun of it. Sarah was trying to be brave, trying not to limp, but the flesh wound in her leg was obvious.

Besides that, her face had been all over the TV from the breakout at the
Pescadero
Hospital
. That was even before
 
the firefight and explosion at the Cyberdyne building. Right now, they were
L.A.
's most wanted. Anyone might notice and recognize them. Even without their bruises and wounds, they were far from inconspicuous. It was past
1:00 A.M.
, so what was a young mother doing out on the streets with her kid? What's more, this young mother wore a striking all-black lighting outfit that left her shoulders bare, displaying her lean, rippling muscles in the streetlights. Sarah had dressed for the battle of her life, and she'd won, but now she stood out like a beacon.

John counted his steps:
 
1498,
 
1499, 1500... almost there. Almost He was feeling like the world's oldest nine-year-old. All his life, he'd been force fed with technical know-how and grown-up ideas: everything from information warfare to rifle training, car mechanics, jungle survival and basic urban street skills. He'd lived in so many places, done so many things. Sarah had educated him to grow up and lead the fight against the machines, as the messages from the future said he'd do—to save the world for humankind. Well, now they'd done exactly that, or so he hoped, yet he felt more than ever like a juvenile criminal. Though they'd saved the world from Judgment Day, there was no one they could tell, no one who'd believe them. Only Tarissa—and they had bad news for her.

Still counting: 1599, 1600...The hotel, with its bright neon sign, was within sprinting distance, but they kept walking slowly, trying to look normal. Only about fifty yards to go now, so long as nobody recognized them, or tried to pick on them. The streets were almost deserted, but it just took one cop on the beat to blow their cover. Just one busybody who'd seen them on TV. Or one aggressive street punk.
                                                    

Footsteps and bantering voices behind them. Sarah squeezed against a shop window, tensing and taking in breath, ready to react. She held John close to her. Two ] tall, beefy
motorbikers
strode past, dressed in black jeans and shiny leather jackets, almost like a pair of longhaired Terminators. The bikers kept right on walking, while a dating couple approached from the direction of the hotel: teenage kids in jeans and T-shirts, too busy hugging, laughing, and playfully shoving each other around to no-
tice
John and Sarah.

A cop walked by on the other side of the road, then turned a corner. He hadn't noticed them. Quickly now, hand in-hand, they half-ran to the hotel, Sarah still limping but bearing up. Beside the hotel lobby was the entrance to an underground car park, so they wouldn't have to show their faces. They walked briskly down the concrete ramp, looking out for the Bronco-they had no idea where Tarissa had parked it, but it must be here somewhere. John had memorized
 
the
 
number plate, IE49973, but Sarah spotted it first. She tugged his hand
  
and nodded in the Bronco's direction. It was parked in a
  
good drive-out bay, so they wouldn't need to maneuver it.
 
 

Tarissa had left the doors unlocked. John flipped down
 
the passenger side sun visor. Sure enough, there were the
  
keys. "Easy money," he said weakly. He passed them over
  
to Sarah, and she started up the engine, switched on the lights. John checked the glove compartment for their maps and papers, including fake passports, several driver's licenses for Sarah, and convincing-looking birth certificates. Everything was there, where they'd left it. It seemed heartless not to visit Tarissa in the hotel, speak with her face to face, explain how her husband, Miles, had died, shot by the SWAT team when it invaded the Cyberdyne AI lab. She'd be upstairs in her room, with Danny, not far away, waiting for word. Waiting and praying. But they dare not enter the lobby or speak to a check-in clerk.

There were so many tough decisions.

Soon, they were on the road.

Sarah drove the Bronco carefully through the suburban streets, but not so hesitantly as to attract attention. "We'll get back to Enrique's place," she said, wincing as she glanced across at John. "You can drive some when we get out in the country."

"Sure, Mom," he said. "Of course." He'd been driving cars and trucks for as long as he could remember, starting when other kids were in kindergarten, learning the basics from Sarah's friends and boyfriends in the various Latin American hideouts she'd taken them to, while they planned and trained.

"We'll have to call Tarissa," she said, obviously dreading it.

Sooner or later, Tarissa would see the news, including the death of her husband at the Cyberdyne building, or she'd call the cops and find out what happened. Somehow, John didn't think she'd act hastily. Surely she'd give them every chance to get out of the city. But she must be biting her nails. It was only fair and decent that they be the ones to tell her how her husband died, not leave it to the cops-who'd have their own spin on the Cyberdyne shootout, anyway.

They picked up the I-10 and headed southeast towards the
Mojave Desert
. After about eighty miles, Sarah pulled I off at a service stop and they found a public phone. She rang
Tarissa's
hotel and asked for Corinne Sanders, the name Tarissa had said she'd use.
                                     

John heard only Sarah's end of the conversation—his mother trying to be strong, just one more time, before they got back into the life of hiding he'd grown up with, which required other kinds of strength. They'd sort out a new life later on. What would it be like? "Tarissa,"

Sarah said. "It's me."

There was a pause.

Sarah looked shaky. "I have bad news for you," she said. "Miles got shot. Someone sounded an alarm and they called in a SWAT team. Miles is dead." She brushed
  
her hair away from her face in frustration, and her voice broke as she talked into the phone. "I'm so sorry."

John reached for her hand and squeezed it.
                  

This time there was a long silence. Though John could not hear what Tarissa was saying, Sarah was letting her talk, letting her express her pain and anger at the intrusion that had shattered her life, broken up her family, taken away her life partner. Of course, Tarissa would blame them for her husband's death. Then again, she'd seen the T-800 Terminator. She knew it was a machine, not a man: a machine advanced far beyond anything currently available. Surely she'd understand that they'd had no choice. Cyberdyne's research had to be stopped. They'd saved humanity from a future too dark to contemplate.

"I know how you feel," Sarah said. "1 wish I could be there with you and Danny. But we have to get away. You know it had to be done."

There was another pause, not so long.

"Yeah, we have the Bronco. We had to leave your car near Cyberdyne... Yeah, I know you can deal with it. I'll be in touch when it's safe. I'm sorry to finish up like this, but we can't stay here. Someone might see us. The cops are still after us.
 
There's no way they'll believe our story, not without proof." Sarah laughed bitterly. "Maybe not even then."

Another pause.

"We destroyed the T-1000. It's a long story. We'll be okay. Try to get some sleep if you can. I guess that's not likely. Ring the cops in a few hours. Tarissa, once again, I'm so sorry. I understand what this is like for you."

John knew that it was true. Sarah really did under-stand the loss. His father, Kyle Reese, had been killed back in 1984, when he and Sarah faced the first T-800.

"Yes," Sarah said, "I know. Take care. Please take care, and don't let Danny grow up hating us." She hung up.

John wondered how Danny, who was still just a little kid, would react to it all. How would he remember this night? It might all depend on how his mother handled it, how honest she was with him. John hoped that one day Danny might grow up to be someone who could be a friend. With the Skynet research finished and the T-1000 destroyed, that seemed possible.

Sarah wiped the sweat from her brow, pulled her hair behind her ears. "Thank God that's done," she said with a heavy sigh. "I know."

"Oh, what am I saying? Poor Tarissa..."

He leant into her. "It'll be okay, Mom," he said. "You'll see. We'll both be okay."

"Oh, John," she said. "If anything happened to you, it would kill me."

In the darkness, John took over the wheel of the Bronco. Even with the seat all the way forward, he could hardly reach the controls, but that wouldn't matter too much, once they were cruising.

As they moved back on the Interstate, John switched on the lights. A sign pointed to
Palm Springs
. Sarah dropped off to sleep beside him as the Bronco rolled along, eating up the miles. She seemed peaceful. But something was at the back of John's mind, bothering him, something he'd had no chance to think about.

It came to him an hour later. They'd destroyed the T-800 back at the steel mill, once its mission was accomplished. But its left arm had been torn off at the elbow, fighting the T-1000. They'd never recovered the hand and forearm.

Whatever they did, there always seemed to be something left that could help develop the Skynet technology. Perhaps they were doomed to failure. Maybe you couldn't change the future.

John clenched his jaw as Sarah stirred in the seat beside him.

He'd tell her about it later. Not now.

North of Calexico, he handed the wheel back to her and got a few minutes' sleep himself while she drove the last miles to the Salceda compound. He'd never been so tired. Whatever the future brought, they would have to face it, be prepared.

No fate,
he thought to himself as sleep came over him.
No fate but what we make for ourselves.

NORTHWEST OF
CALEXICO
,
CALIFORNIA
     

As the sun rose in a pale, cloudless sky, they reached Enrique
Salceda's
compound in the
Low
Desert
.

A year seemed to have passed—it was difficult to believe that they'd come here less than twenty-four hours ago, before that fateful trip back to
L.A.