The future war, p.23
The Future War, page 23
It was only about a quarter of an acre, and carefully irregular so that it wouldn’t show much from orbit, even on days without the current heavy gray cloud and occasional spatters of rain. The brook was running high not far off to his left, purling over a bed of brown stones.
He tossed the uprooted thistle onto the mulch—leaves, twigs, grass, reeds—that covered the ground between the knee-high plants and moved on to the next weed, hacking at the base of it with a force that hurt his gloved hands. The turned earth had a cool, yeasty smell, oddly like bread. Despite the cool temperature, he was sweating, and his back hurt. Could it have been only last year that farming meant sitting in lordly comfort in an air-conditioned tractor cab, spraying herbicides?
He who does not work does not eat, he told himself.
There were a dozen other people working in the same field, and many more fields like it scattered through the nearby hills—growing corn, potatoes, beets, all sorts of vegetables. They had come along more slowly than usual, but only by a couple of weeks. And they were a bit runty, but very welcome anyway.
The hunting had been very good, with abundant deer and hare. They’d had to shoot a bear a few weeks ago. It had risen cranky from hibernation and had made clear its antipathy toward its new neighbors; besides, they needed its cave for storage.
Tom Preston had liked the flavor of the meat, but he’d been in the minority. Most of their small community had found it too gamy and way too tough. There were still a lot of scavenged canned goods available for the picky, though, and his big gallon jars of multivitamins would keep deficiency diseases at bay for years, if need be.
The community had grown over the past year to a village of more than a hundred people. Most of whom refused to understand why they should avoid being visible from orbit. Things had been so peaceful lately that Tom himself had begun to have doubts.
So when some of the newcomers suggested a party to celebrate their survival, he was willing to go along, to a point.
“Fireworks?” Tom said. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Why? What’s wrong with fireworks? It’s been wet enough that they shouldn’t pose a fire hazard,” one of the newcomers, Sam Varela, said.
“Because it’s a gigantic, ‘We Are Here’ sign,” Tom said. “I, for one, don’t want to end up in those relocation camps you people fled.”
The newcomers glared at him resentfully. “We have no reason to think they’re still doing that,” Sam said through his teeth.
“We have less reason to think they’re not,” Tom snapped back.
“They didn’t set up those camps to leave them empty.”
“Going was voluntary,” a woman pointed out.
“So why are you here?” Preston challenged. “Why here? Why not stay in your homes?”
“We’re getting into some pretty deep issues here,” his wife, Peggy, said with a frown at her husband. They’d discussed the newcomers in the privacy of their bedroom and his suspicion toward them worried her. “When what we came here to discuss was a picnic.”
“Maybe we should get into it,” the woman said. “I’m tired of being treated like an interloper when all I want to do is get back to normal.”
“Things aren’t going to go back to normal,” Tom said. Didn’t you notice a few little changes? Like the thermonuclear war?
“Things are going to get a lot worse for a long time before we get anywhere close to normal. But one thing that will at least keep us safe is to avoid attracting attention.”
“Exactly whose attention are you afraid of?” Sam gave a light laugh and spread his hands. “The army? I’m telling you, they’re too busy to go chasing down anyone who doesn’t want their help. Who else is there?” He shrugged.
Tom closed his eyes. Sometimes he wondered himself. John Connor had warned that there would be more problems with machines, but with no fuel or electricity, he honestly couldn’t see how that could be. Humans, on the other hand…
“I’m worried about gangs,” Tom said. “I’m afraid that some group of lawless men will come along and take everything we’ve put together and kill our families.” He stood up and started to pace.
“These aren’t civilized times,” he continued. “We’re not protected by multiple law enforcement organizations anymore. For the foreseeable future, our fate is in our own hands.”
“Oh,” the woman said. “When you put it that way it makes perfect sense.”
“No fireworks,” said Sam.
Tom sat down and forced a smile, but this didn’t feel like victory. Rather it felt like number four hundred of a million more arguments.
I almost wish we’d be attacked so these people would realize what they’re facing. Almost.
“Honey,” Peggy said to him later in bed, “we’re seventy-eight adults here and we’re well armed. It’s unlikely that we’ll be faced by any gang more powerful than we are ourselves. Maybe we could loosen up a bit. Don’t you think?”
Tom reached out and drew her into his arms. “I was so afraid the day the bombs came down that I’d never see you and the kids again,” he said into her sweet-smelling hair. Even now, with no shampoo available, he liked the way her hair smelled. God, but he loved her.
Peggy hugged him tight. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I always did.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s be extra careful this year, until we’ve got our feet under us. Then we can talk about loosening up.” He pulled back and looked down into her face, barely visible in the moonlight coming through the cabin window. Tom shook his head. “But I’m pretty certain that we’re gonna have to build a stockade.”
She laughed and buried her head in his shoulder, tickling him so that he laughed, too.
“It’s not funny,” he said. “I’m serious.”
“You are never gonna sell them on that idea,” she said. “I can just see their faces.” And she laughed again.
He smiled at her and held her close. But all the while he was thinking that a stockade was something they’d realize was necessary only after they needed it the most. He kissed his wife and prayed that she wouldn’t have to suffer for its absence.
Skynet
It watched the small settlement from the dark beneath the trees; linking with the Terminators’ interfaces, Skynet saw the village from multiple angles. This settlement had been surprisingly well hidden for a long time. But the sheer size of the place in an area bereft of any other human activity had eventually brought it to the computer’s never-resting attention.
One hundred thirty-two humans, seventy-eight of them adults, no meat animals, lived together here. It was an almost pathologically tidy place; quite unnatural for humans. Their houses were small, built beneath, and with, the surrounding trees; often the lower limbs had been woven more tightly to provide a framework for thatched roofs, while the walls were saplings woven together and smeared with clay mixed with grass. Insubstantial for a permanent dwelling; winter weather would break them down in a short time.
But in summer, if the weather was dry, they should be adequate shelter. Even if the weather was wet, however, they should burn well.
Through a Terminator’s sensors Skynet watched the brightly colored silhouettes of the humans through the thin walls of their dwellings. One by one, two by two, they reclined, and the heat images took on the signatures of humans at rest. Its Terminators waited silent and motionless as the moon rose and traversed the night sky.
Many small improvements had made these Terminators more formidable killing machines than the first group, and their weapons were infinitely more powerful than the pellet weapons these humans had at their disposal. Still, Skynet had observed these subjects intensely and knew them to be well schooled in the use of the weapons they did have. This would be a true test, the first of a thousand thousand field terminations, until the final organic pest was hunted down.
Unfortunately, that will require at least another century.
As the last human sank into a dormant state, Skynet gave the signal to attack.
Peggy woke first. A light sleeper since the children were born, she heard a crackling sound and opened her eyes to the sight of flames.
“Tom!” she shrieked, leaped from the bed, and ran down the loft stairs toward the already engulfed living room. The heat drove her back and she lay down on the floor to look over the edge of the platform. “Jason! Lisa!” she screamed.
Then Tom was beside her. He looked over the edge and saw his children with their backs against the wall of the cabin, coughing, their eyes wild with fear. “Take Daddy’s hand,” he shouted over the roar of the flames. If he could just get them up here, they could go out the window, down the rope ladder.
Lisa came toward him, but Jason held back, shaking his head frantically. The little girl reached up and Tom squirmed forward, putting slightly more than half his body over the edge. He could feel his hair start to sizzle. Peggy threw herself across his hips to hold him down, and when Lisa’s head came over the edge of the platform, she reached forward and caught the girl’s hair. Lisa was already screaming by then, so it made little difference in the volume of her distress, but still, her mother felt terrible.
Once Lisa was safe and huddled against her mother, Tom dove over the edge a second time, reaching toward his son and encouraging, ordering, threatening him to come to Daddy. Suddenly his hair caught fire and Tom reared up in surprise and shock. Peggy caught up the small rag rug at the foot of the bed and threw it over his head.
“I’ve gotta go down to him, Peg,” Tom said. “He’s too scared to move. Get Lisa out of here.”
She shook her head. “We’ve got time. You go get him; we’ll lower the rope ladder. Then we’ll all go.” Because they sure weren’t going out the front door.
Tom did as she suggested, lowering himself from the platform, trying to ignore the fierce heat on his naked shoulders. He forced himself to move slowly for fear of panicking his son into doing something foolish. “C’mon, Jason,” he said soothingly. “Take my hand and let’s get out of here, okay?”
The rope ladder came down from above and Jason dove toward it, eluding Tom’s clutching hand. Tom couldn’t help laughing as he pursued the kid up the ladder. As soon as he reached the top, he grabbed it and dragged it over to the window, tossing it out with a clatter. Jason all but pushed him aside in his eagerness to be out of the flaming cabin and Tom let him go, laughing at his eagerness. His sister will never let him live this down.
Jason was halfway down when a blaze of blue light shot through him, emerging in a yellow blossom of sparks. The boy fell backward, a startled expression on his young face. Tom was leaning out the window, frozen with shock, when Peggy yanked his shoulder. If not for the sudden move, the next flash of blue light would have taken off his head.
“What’s happening?” Peggy shouted over Lisa’s terrified screaming.
“The cellar!” Tom answered.
His wife stared at the rising flames, then at her husband. It didn’t look possible. She moved toward the window, but Tom grabbed her and dragged her toward the stairs.
“Tom!” she shouted, objecting, but too frightened to be more coherent.
“Jason’s gone,” he said tersely, feeling sick to his stomach.
“Someone’s firing at us. Cellar,” he repeated.
Peggy had gone limp. She still held their daughter, still stood, but for now at least, she might as well have been gone. The loft was full of smoke and the heat was becoming more dangerous. Tom grabbed a blanket off the bed and soaked it as well as he could with the contents of their washbowl. Then he wrapped it around them all, and with one arm around his wife’s waist barreled down the stairs.
The hatch to the cellar was under the stairs and so, for the moment, was partially sheltered from the scorching heat. Tom yanked it up, then forced his wife down the stairs before him, pulling the hatch closed behind.
Long ago he’d connected the cellar to a narrow rock cave that came out by the creek. Peggy knew about it and she’d hated it, seeing it as an example of his growing paranoia. The sight of the passage now snapped her out of her shock and she took a deep breath, turning to him with fear in her eyes.
“Mom and Dad,” she said. Then she faltered for a moment and Tom knew she was thinking of Jason.
“We need to get out of here first,” he said, and gave her a gentle push.
He pulled the camouflaged, dirt-coated door closed behind them, hoping it wouldn’t burn. Just inside, he pawed at the doorframe and found the flashlight he’d placed there. He shook it to charge the battery, then hastened Peggy down the passageway in the dim light.
The passage wasn’t that long, really, about a hundred feet, but it had seemed the length of Route 66 before he’d been finished. At the end, where he’d placed another hidden door, he’d also stowed some clothes and weapons, carefully wrapped in plastic to protect them. There was food here, too. He sat Peggy on one of the chests.
“Get dressed,” Tom ordered, “and stand ready. I’m going to find out what’s going on. I might end up sending some of the other women and children down here. Take care of them.” He grabbed a shotgun and thumbed in rounds—solid shot, cylindrical rifled slugs.
Then he turned off the flashlight and placed it in his wife’s hand. Feeling his way carefully, he opened the door into the natural cave.
When he reached the creek he squatted down and smeared some mud from the bank over his face and hands, then crept forward. Peering over the bank, he saw that the whole village was in flames. He could see forms moving about; by their postures he could tell they were armed. Then one stood before the flames of a burning house and he caught his breath, his eyes widening in horror.
Like something from a horror movie, it was skeletal. It turned its head slowly, like a gun turret searching for a target. Light gleamed from the metal dome of its skull and through the cage of its ribs; red light blazed from its eye sockets. Tom sank slowly, until he’d dropped onto his butt.
Shit! he thought.
Slowly he became aware that he was hearing screams. Tom squeezed his eyes tight shut, wishing he could do the same with his ears. Of course he heard screaming. They were trapped in burning buildings, and the only way out was certain death. If he hadn’t provided a way out for himself and his family, he’d be screaming, too.
There was a sound off to his right. Not footsteps but the result of stealthy footsteps, crackling leaves and breaking twigs, unavoidable in the deep woods. Tom pressed himself deeper into the dirt of the bank and prayed, making all sorts of promises to God if He would only let him live. He pulled the rifle against his chest, up under his chin, waiting.
He had no idea how many of those things were up there trolling the village for survivors, but he knew one shot would have them all down here looking for him. That would draw them toward Peggy and Lisa, and he wouldn’t let these things have them. They wouldn’t take them like they’d taken his son. My boy! he thought in anguish, and pushed the feeling away, forcing anger into its place, overriding the grief with fury. The machines would not succeed. He wouldn’t let them.
The soft, methodical sound of footsteps came closer.
The Terminator scout came to the end of its designated watch zone and turned away. No humans appeared to have escaped the assault. The enemy had been caught completely unprepared. It appeared that there had been 100 percent enemy casualties.
It stopped every five feet to scan the woods all around, then proceeded on its way. No humans seemed to have escaped the assault.
Terminated, it transmitted to Skynet.
Alaska
John Connor was worried.
I suspect that’s going to be my natural state from here on out, he thought.
The PDA in his hand showed the terrain, his location, and the jump-off points of the other attack parties. The factory was located in a low wooded valley surrounded by spruce-clad hills…
And this is the first big operation I’ve personally commanded, he thought nervously, looking around at the confident faces. Maybe I am the Great Military Dickhead of Mom’s dreams, but right now I feel more like a confidence man. Not that that’s my only worry.
By the time they’d moved out, he hadn’t heard from Tom Preston in Iowa. Unusual. Tom was one person who could be relied on to report regularly. He’d remarked once that having young children kept you awake and alert and therefore on time. But not today.
Hope it’s not an omen. Maybe that was an ill-omened thought. So far everything had gone extremely well. Almost suspiciously well. Could it really be that the computer was arrogant enough to not protect its most important assets? Because there was, as yet, no sign that the resistance fighters had been seen. He couldn’t help it; continuous good fortune raised his hackles.
Ninel was back with the various transports; also there was Ike, who’d arrived in Alaska yesterday. He appeared to like Ninel, but had looked askance at John when he found out she was going with them. It hadn’t been necessary for him to comment; John knew the older man well enough to have gotten paragraphs of meaning out of that one look.
The two of them would come up to the factory once John was sure the place was secured. Although with Skynet, secured tended to be a relative term.
There was a fence around the installation and about twenty yards of cleared ground all around the inside. The building was a metal frame affair with steps leading up to a second level. From the blueprints there was a small office there. But most of the interior was pure machinery up to forty feet high. There were spotlights at each corner of the building and on each corner of the fence at the top of tall poles.
John crouched beside the crew with the TOW antitank missile. “Can you take out the antennae?” He gestured toward the dish atop the square building.
