Infiltrator

he muttered.

Sarah rolled her eyes. 'Sweetheart,' she said quietly, 'we have to rely on each other, and we have to take care of one another. But that will go easier for both of us if we don't try to micromanage each other's life.'

John slid her a sardonic glance, which she couldn't appreciate because she was focusing on the increasingly rough road. This from the woman who sent me to military school, he thought. Where micromanaging lives is what they do all day, every day. Have you no shame, Mom?

John stifled a sigh. He'd just have to watch her. He thought this behavior was new, but couldn't be certain. Their camping trip would be the perfect opportunity to find out just how far it had gone. A few weeks in the wilderness should dry her out nicely.

Sarah lay in bed, smoking and thinking, staring at the rough plaster of the ceiling and watching the smoke rise in curls through the moonlight. Thinking that this would be one of her last cigarettes until John went back to school. Thinking about the girl she had been and wondering what kind of woman she'd be now if Kyle Reese and the Terminator hadn't come into her life.

Just lately she'd been sincerely regretting the loss of that girl, even while she winced at how clueless she'd been.

Why me? she wondered for the millionth time.

With an impatient grimace she stubbed out her cigarette. Such thoughts were a waste of time. She knew she should fight the impulse to indulge them. But she was so isolated here that it got harder and harder not to wallow in self-pity.

She punched her pillow and turned to a more comfortable position in the bed.

Self-pity had never been one of her flaws before. And heaven knew she had reason to be happy. She was safe; more importantly, John was safe. The future, as far as she could tell, was assured. They had a nice comfortable life here in Villa Hayes. They didn't even have to associate with much in the way of lowlife, except smugglers—and smugglers were quite respectable, in Paraguay.

A nice, comfortable, deadly dull, boring, empty life. She sighed. The girl she'd been would probably have found this life very fulfilling. She wished she could somehow achieve that attitude. She also wished she could have a little glass of cana to help send her off to sleep. But John's obvious distress stopped her. The craving she was feeling right now stopped her.

She'd be a fool to have come so far only to lose everything to demon rum. The only thing left in my life that means anything to me is my son. I will not lose his respect. So she'd just have to get used to going to sleep the natural way.

At least she didn't have the nightmare anymore. For a moment she ground her face into the pillow as the thought brought back the images. The searing flash of white light as the bomb ignited, the burning bodies bursting apart as the blast

wave struck them, her own body reduced to bones, yet still alive…

Now when she had nightmares they were mostly of the asylum. Certainly that was nightmare enough for anybody. That creepy asshole Douglas and his nightstick ratcheting against the doors at night, that was always a part of it.

I hope I crippled the bastard, she thought. Killing was altogether too good for him.

And Dr. Silberman with his feigned compassion and understanding. Sarah grinned as she thought about the way she'd last seen him, pressed up against the wall with his mouth hinging open as the fluid form of the T-1000 went through the lockdown bars.

I wonder how long it took him to convince himself that what he'd seen was some sort of 'mass hallucination' What a paper that would make.

Go to sleep! she ordered herself. Not surprisingly that didn't work. With a sigh she got up, put on her robe, and went out onto the portal, the tile cool under her feet, the night alive with the sound of tropical insect life. She was startled momentarily to find someone out there.

'John?'

'Hi Mom, can't sleep?'

'That's my line.' She sat beside him on the swing. 'I know you're worried about me,' Sarah said. 'No need. A word to the wise, as they say. If it worries you, it's gone. Okay?'

He let out a long sigh. 'Thank you,' he said simply.

'No problem.' Well, it might be, but it would be her problem. No reason for John to know anything about it.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the soft, spring night.

'Think you'll be able to sleep now?' she asked after a while.

'Yeah.' John was surprised to realize that he did think so.

'Me, too. Let's go in and hit the hay.'

'Good night,' he said, and kissed her on the cheek.

'G'night, hon.'

'So what are you going to do today?' Sarah asked, tearing apart a galleta and nibbling on the hot bread.

The rolls were a breakfast favorite for both of them. So was the room, big and sunny—shady where it gave on the veranda. The casa grande wasn't actually very grand, about eighty years old, but built of whitewashed adobe and tile in a style much older. It had been the center of a much larger property once, but she'd bought only enough to give her privacy and pasture for a horse or two.

John tipped his head from side ta side with his mouth turned down. 'I dunno.

Thought I might take Linda for a little exercise. If that's all right with you?'

'No problem, she's getting fat and stir-crazy.' Sarah took a sip of her mate. 'So I'll leave you to your own devices for today?'

' Si. I think basically I'll just luxuriate and do nothing.'

'Translation, everybody else I know is still in school. Well'—she tipped her head to the side—'except for that crowd of ne'er-do-wells that hang out at the plaza.'

John waved a hand. 'Nah! Not in the mood.'

Sarah smiled a slow smile and he pretended not to notice.

'You're afraid I'll put you to work.'

'Not on my first day,' he said. 'You wouldn't be so cruel and I deny that I would ever think of you so, mamacita.'

She chuckled. 'Mamacita?' She looked off over the fields, grinning. 'Is that how you see me these days? Your good, old, gray-haired, gingerbread-baking little mama?'

'The day I catch you baking gingerbread in a frilly apron, Mom, is the day I leave home. Whatchoo talkin' about, gray hair!' He gave her a look of comic disgust and Sarah laughed.

'I do have something I have to ask you,' she said. 'And I can't believe I'm asking this. How should I dress for the Salcidos' asado? I mean are we talking about a sittin'-on-the-hay-bales kind of a do, or is it more like the barbecue in

Gone With the Wind'

John spread his hands helplessly, his face a study in amused disbelief. ' You can't believe you're asking this? I can't believe you're asking me this. How should I know? I supposed Luis will have his mom send us an invitation; maybe that will tell us.'

'If we get an invitation, it's almost certain to be formal,' Sarah mused. 'I mean people don't send invitations for casual barbecues.' She shrugged. 'At least they didn't in the States.'

'I'll check with Luis when he gets home,' John promised. He waggled his eyebrows. 'I don't want us to make a bad impression.'

'Too late for that,' Sarah told him sadly. 'But with the right duds we might save the day.'