Terminator Salvation: The Official Movie Novelization (10 page)

The force of the explosion was strong enough to buckle the narrow bridge. As Wright fought for control, the truck started sliding into the gorge.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

Screaming, yelling, and unable to grab onto anything to halt their fall, first Star and then Reese were sent tumbling out of the truck. Their plunge was halted by a pair of hands. Unfortunately, they were hands of metal. Scorched and dented but far from incapacitated, the trailing Harvester had caught up to the confrontation in time to pluck both children out of the air. Unyielding digits deposited both of them into a waiting Transporter.

That was enough for Wright. Grabbing an axe, he took a short run, jumped, and managed to grab hold of the hovering Transport. Reese and Star were clearly visible within the human-proof enclosure. Bringing the axe up, he started to swing it around when the nearby Harvester swept him off the vehicle’s roof. Apparently deciding that this particular specimen was especially valuable, it prepared to deposit him into the Transport’s forward section.

“Marcus!” Reese yelled from inside the holding basket.

“Get back!” He raised the axe again.

A new presence marked by a double scream caused it to pause. The source of the sound was a pair of A-10 Warthogs that came roaring across the top of the river gorge. Recognizing the appearance of this greater threat, the Hunter-Killer ascended skyward on its impellers and immediately took off in pursuit of the two aircraft. Moments later another HK arrived on the scene, followed by a third.

“Williams—Harvester’s got a friendly pinned to that Transport. HK’s coming in to finish him off—get in there.” Connor barked into the radio. Kate and Barnes stood next to him in the control room, while the control operators worked with calm efficiency around them. Connor’s mission for his two A-10 pilots—Williams and Mihradi—helping a few civilians through a dead zone had in the past few minutes become deadly serious.

A female voice came through on the radio.

“Got it, sir. Closing in—2,000 meters. Locking on—”

Above the gorge, the sky was suddenly filled with bursts of cannon fire as the two pilots found themselves unexpectedly outnumbered and outgunned. That didn’t keep the second pilot from blasting apart the HK that was pursuing the Harvester.

“Good hit, Williams. You nailed it.”

Barnes clenched his fist in silent victory as Mihradi’s message came through. He glanced over at Connor who was already working through the next move. He leaned in toward the radio, speaking intently.

“Mihradi, take out the Transport’s main engine—”

“What about the prisoners?” As if anticipating the pilot’s concerns, Connor barely paused in his instructions.

“It’ll auto-land on passive thrusters—and we can get ’em out.”

The pilot’s voice was crisp and clear.

“Affirm, coming in 200 feet off the deck.”

The lead pilot banked sharply, dove, and shredded the rear half of the Harvester that was holding a large human prisoner.

Hit multiple times and losing power, it still retained control of its captive. The towering machine reached toward the slowly accelerating Transport for support.

The effort came to naught as an internal blast destroyed the Harvester’s processing unit. Still holding tight to its prey, the machine plunged over the side of the canyon and toward the river below. The man fought his dying captor all the way down, when they landed in the river, and as they sunk toward the bottom of the fast-moving watercourse.

“HK’s on our six!”

As they heard Williams’ voice the three Resistance fighters watched the monitors intently as the red blip that represented the HK closed in on the two Resistance A-10s.

“It’s got a lock on you—break off!” Connor yelled into the radio.

“No! He’s down; he’s down.” Williams’ shout came through as one of the green blips disappeared from the monitor.

High above, caught in an unexpectedly ferocious crossfire, one A-10 disintegrated in a shower of metal and composite splinters. As the second plane banked and attempted to get away from the overwhelming firepower of the swarming HKs, it took a hit that blew away one engine.

***

“Evasive maneuvers—now!” Connor ordered and his knuckles turned white as they gripped the table. But his voice remained steady.

The same couldn’t be said of the pilot.

“It’s all over me. Can’t shake it.” Her words were taut as if Williams was gritting her teeth when she spoke. “Engine’s out! I got half speed only!”

Connor’s response was instant and his voice turned urgent.

“Eject, Williams! Eject!”

Swept away by the fast-moving river, the dead Harvester finally lost its grip on its single human prisoner. Kicking free, Wright struggled toward the surface. He broke through the white water overhead long after the average swimmer would have blacked out from lack of oxygen. Long, deep breaths filled his lungs—as he saw the second A-10, trailing flame, come plunging directly toward him.

Arching his back, he dove and kicked as hard as he could for the bottom he had just escaped. He moved fast underwater—faster even than he remembered being able to—but not fast enough to escape the pile of metal that landed almost on top of him. The river quickly quenched the flames that were pouring from the fatally damaged aircraft. It also dragged the plane and the man who had been trapped beneath it swiftly downstream.

He had no idea how long he had been underwater or how far from the destroyed bridge he had been carried. Of the downed A-10 there was no sign. Coughing up river, barely conscious, wondering how he had survived, Wright grew aware that half of him was still submerged in the eddy that had deposited him on the sandy shore. He told himself firmly that answers to such questions could come later.

For the moment, being alive was enough.

Feeling that if a sudden rush of water came downstream and caught him he would not have the strength to fight it, he knew he had to get completely out of the river. Rolling over, he lay on his back exhausted, trying to recover some sense along with his wind.

This won’t do
, he told himself. Out in the open and lying flat on the riverbank, the sun would dehydrate him quickly. Furthermore, sprawled helplessly he was completely exposed to the eyes of any patrolling machine. With a groan, he rolled over again and worked to get up onto his knees. That accomplished, he took a deep breath, stood, swayed for a moment, and steadied himself.

Since he had fallen into the river it stood to reason that any Terminators looking for him would begin by searching there. Checking the position of the sun, he headed inland in a northward direction and away from the water.

The wall of sand and loose scree that fronted the waterway was not easy to climb, but it did have one unexpected benefit. As he ascended, loose sand and gravel slipped downward to fill in and obscure his footsteps. He would leave no trail. Having no local destination in mind but retaining his northern bearing, he angled toward the only structure in the vicinity. If nothing else, it might offer some shade.

As it developed, the half-collapsed high voltage transmission tower not only offered shade, but a surprise.

It was impossible to miss the parachute that was hanging from one of the tower’s twisted cross-supports. The lightweight material fluttered slightly in what passed for a breeze. No doubt the chute had been deployed from one of the two downed fighter aircraft. As he drew nearer he saw that something was dangling from the lower end of the chute, at the terminus of the multiple nylon lines.

It was a body, sagging limp in its shroud.

The body proceeded to address him.

“Hey!” It was a feeble salutation, but certainly far more than Wright had expected to hear. The weakness of the shout notwithstanding, he determined that the suspended pilot was possessed either of an unusually high voice or a different set of chromosomes. Walking over to the ruined structure and peering upward, he saw that it was the latter supposition that was accurate.

“
Hey!
” Her second shout was slightly more vigorous than its predecessor. “Gimme a hand, will you?”

Standing on the sandy surface staring up at her, Wright studied the warped metal spire for a moment, chose an angle of ascent, and went up it like a gibbon. The speed and agility with which he reached her side took her by surprise. Took him by surprise, too, but then as a kid he had always been adept at tree climbing. He studied the surrounding landscape.

“Nice view.” Turning to examine the snarl of chute lines he started wrenching and pulling, trying to untangle her.

“Name’s Williams. Blair Williams.”

“Marcus Wright.” He continued wrestling with the lines. They were not cooperating. Standing atop the transmission tower he knew he was almost as out in the open as he had been lying on the beach, and he didn’t like the exposure. Hanging helpless in the straps of her ejection pack, the Resistance pilot was an even more obvious target.

Their thoughts and concerns coincided.

“I like to think I’m a tidy person, Marcus,” she told him, “but this is no place to waste time on neatness.” She nodded toward the ground. “How about we cut to the conclusion? I’ve got a knife.”

He stopped wrestling with the frustrating knot of ropes.

“Where?”

“Back of my left boot. Ankle sheath.”

Her right foot was hanging over emptiness. Holding onto a section of metal with one hand, he leaned out and flailed at the indicated limb with his other hand.

“Can’t reach it.”

“Hang on.” Dangling from the lines, she began to rock back and forth, building up momentum without regard to whether or not it might cause her to spill out of the harness. Wright waited, waited, and then timed his reach perfectly, locking his hand around her boot. Probing fingers released the catch on the sheath and he pulled the knife free. It was bigger than he expected; long, sharp, and with one edge lined with jagged teeth.

Sitting back on his perch, he eyed it admiringly. For the first time since regaining consciousness he had come into contact with a memory that was pleasing. In a life devoid of friends, knives had always been there for him, ready and willing to do whatever he wanted them to do. Sometimes too often.

He shook off the worthless reverie. “Nice knife.”

Something in his voice, maybe, or something in his expression caused her to keep her response short.

“Thanks.
My
knife.”

Without comment, he began sawing at the thickest part of the tangle. He was halfway through when he realized that with nothing to hold her back she was going to take a hard tumble when he cut through the last cords. The sand below the crumpled tower was thick and soft, but it was still a substantial drop. Turning slightly, he extended his left arm toward her.

“Take my hand.”

She nodded, and had to swing briefly again to reach him. Gripping her right hand firmly with his left, he resumed slicing at the cords. He didn’t have to cut the last one—unable to hold her weight by itself, it snapped with a soft
pop.
Dropping a couple of feet, she came to a sudden stop and found herself dangling high above the ground. Though she was not small, he held her easily with his one arm.

Bending down as much as he could without releasing his grip, he swung her like a toy until she could grab one of the metal struts. Their eyes met and locked for several seconds.

“You can let go now,” she told him softly. He released her hand, and together they made their way back to the ground. He watched her with admiration. Most of the women he had known couldn’t climb worth a damn. Those who could were usually responding to unusual motivation, such as the shouts of pursuing police to stop where they were.

She was dusting herself off as Wright started walking away. His attention was focused not on her, but on a specific point in the distance. One he could not see, but seemed to know was there.

“That thing the machines put the people in—where is it going?”

Still checking her gear, she glanced up at him.

“The meat Transport? I don’t know. Nobody does. There are all kinds of theories. Nobody talks about it much. Doesn’t make for pleasant dinner conversation.”

He nodded, and promptly started off in the direction he had last seen the machine traveling. She gaped at him.

“Where the hell are you going?”

He spoke without looking back. “After it. They took my—friends.”

She shook her head. What part of the sky had this doof-us—an admittedly very strong doofus—dropped from?

“I hate to break it to you, but if you’ve got friends on that thing, they’re as good as dead. The machines don’t swap prisoners. When they lose fighters, they just build new ones.” He was still walking, forcing her to shout after him. “You’ll be dead too if you keep going in that direction!”

This time he did look back. His tone was stone cold.

“I’ve been dead for a while now. I’m getting good at it.”

She jogged after him until she caught up. Part of her said just to let him go. You couldn’t stop a fool from going on a fool’s errand, especially one as determined as this idiot seemed to be. On the other hand, every live person was one more who could raise a weapon against Skynet. If there was anything the war had taught even the most cynical, it was that every human life was worth preserving. Having seen that common sense had no effect on her rescuer, she switched to persuasion.