Red-hot flames licked at the opposite side of the fence. Animal instinct threatened to overcome logic, and he was on the verge of hurling himself away from the inferno. Suddenly, an ear-piercing blast of sound sliced through the air.
A powerful engine roared as the truck zoomed madly down the highway, straight toward the automaton.
The machine appeared to be just as surprised as Losenko by the truck’s unexpected arrival. It turned away from the burning junkyard, its upper body rotating ninety degrees to face the oncoming vehicle. It barely had time to fire off a single burst of uranium rounds, which failed to penetrate the truck’s hardened-steel shell. The bulletproof windshield cracked, but did not shatter.
The truck struck the robot at high speed. Its considerable mass and momentum flattened the machine, which disappeared beneath the armored chassis.
Losenko’s jaw dropped. He felt as though he had been tossed a lifeline. He staggered away from the blazing junkyard toward the road. Painful coughs cleared the smoke from his lungs. Confused eyes sought out the truck that had just saved him.
The armored vehicle spun around, turning its back toward the captain and his men. Brakes squealed as it skidded to a halt a few meters away. A pair of double doors slammed open, revealing human figures in the cargo hold. An outstretched arm beckoned to the surviving sailors.
“Get in!” a raspy female voice called out. Losenko got a quick impression of a short, stocky woman in soiled work clothes.
“Hurry!”
CHAPTER TEN
2018
The dogs barked loudly enough to raise the dead.
Molly’s eyes snapped open. Instantly alert, she sprang from the bed even as Geir stirred beneath the covers. The frantic baying, coming from outside, sent a jolt of adrenaline though Molly’s veins.
She raced across the shadowy bedroom and threw open the shutters. It was still night outside; the sun was nowhere near rising. Darkness shrouded the forgotten mill town. The barks sounded as if they were coming from the south, maybe from over by the playground. She squinted into the blackness, but even as her eyes adjusted the other buildings blocked her view.
A high-pitched yap was cut off abruptly.
Geir sat up in bed. Darkness hid his face, but not the tension in his voice.
“What is it?”
“Trouble,” she guessed. It was possible the dogs were reacting to a stray animal—perhaps a bear or wolf— wandering too near the camp, but she doubted it.
The jarring staccato of gunfire instantly confirmed her worst fears. No way would the lookouts be opening fire on wildlife like that, especially not in the wee hours of the morning. There could be only one explanation.
Skynet had found them.
Molly had to know what was happening... and now. Fumbling in the dark, she snatched a walkie-talkie off the top of a chest of drawers and thumbed the speaker button.
“Security, this is Kookesh. What the fuck is going on out there?”
Static crackled in her ear, then an agitated voice could be heard over a din of angry shouting and gunfire. The shots echoed through the window as well, lending them an unnatural stereo effect.
“We’ve got a breach!” She recognized the raspy twang of Tom Jensen, a logger-turned-guerilla. He was supposed to be patrolling the southwest perimeter. “A machine! T-600, I think!”
Molly’s heart sank.
“Keep it busy!” she barked into the receiver. “I’ll be right there!”
She flung the walkie-talkie onto the bed, then started scooping her clothes up from the floor. The inky blackness frustrated her.
A match struck loudly just a few feet away, igniting the kerosene lamp by the bed. A flickering golden radiance lit up the bedroom, much to Molly’s relief. She glanced over to see Geir standing naked by the lantern. He blew out the match.
“Thanks!” she grunted, pulling on her slacks. “I’ve gotta get down there.”
“Hang on.” He retrieved his own garments, which were draped over the back of a ratty easy chair. “I’ll be right with you.’
Molly shook her head vehemently.
“Forget it. You’ve got to get that plane out of here.” Geir’s vintage plane,
“Crap!” he swore. “I hate it when you’re right.” He grabbed the pistol that sat by the bed and tossed it in her direction. “Do me a favor. Be careful, okay?”
She thrust the sidearm into its holster, and shot him a wry grin.
“It’s the machines that need to worry,” she said, flaunting a bravado she didn’t feel. Moments later her M4 carbine was locked and loaded. “Just keep
Sleigh bells jangled as she yanked open the door. She ran downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Excited yelps greeted her; she had forgotten about the huskies sleeping by the stove.
Crossing the murky office, she pulled open the front door. An arctic blast of wind invaded the cabin. The cold hitting her face jolted her awake faster than the strongest coffee.
“Scoot!” she ordered, motioning to the dogs, anxious to give them a chance to escape. “Go on, scram!”
The huskies obeyed, and she followed them out into the freezing night air. The isolated camp was spread out around her. A single gravel road connected most of the mill’s sheds, plants, storehouses, and bunkhouses, which the Resistance had converted to its own purposes. The old ammonia leeching plant was now an armory and communications center. The powerhouse was a garage.
A fourteen-story breaker mill dominated the hillside further up, with a rickety wooden tramway that had once carried raw ore to the top of the building, where it had been dumped into the chutes and crushers below. To the east, rusty metal tracks led to a dilapidated railway depot that hadn’t seen a locomotive for more then eighty years. A crumbling wooden bridge spanned a wide, ice-covered stream that fed the glacier below.
Opaque black clouds kept the moon from relieving the nocturnal gloom, and Molly kicked herself for not remembering to grab a flashlight.
Lights flared inside the buildings, barely visible through the shutters, as the sleeping camp was shocked awake by the hair-raising tumult. Startled cries and curses escaped the ramshackle bunkhouses that were home to most of the Resistance fighters and their families. Frightened faces appeared in the windows. Babies wailed behind flimsy wooden walls. Molly’s heart went out to her people whose well-earned rest had just gone to hell. She wanted to assure them that they were going to be all right, that she had things under control.
But that would be a lie.
Despite the stygian blackness, she had no trouble figuring out which way to go. Gunfire, screams, and
