Terminator Salvation - From the Ashes

even this much gunfire—could be gang warfare or even ordinary residents defending their property and lives.

But very few people, gangs included, threw bombs at each other these days. The people who knew how to make such devices usually saved them to use against the Terminators.

“Could they have started already?” Kate murmured tautly.

“God, I hope not,” David murmured back. “We’re not ready yet.”

The echoes of the explosion faded away, and as they did so the gunfire itself abruptly ceased.

Connor strained his ears, even though he knew that the brief battle had been too far away for them to hear any moans or screams from the wounded. If there were, in fact, any wounded still left to scream. Into the silence came the sound of a second explosion, followed a few seconds later by a third, this one louder than the first two had been.

And then, silence again returned.

“Anyone get a direction on that?” Connor asked, looking over at the sentry. “Vincennes?”

The other shook his head.

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was somewhere to the east,” he said. “But there’s so much echo off the buildings I couldn’t tell for sure.”

Connor looked back at Kate, then turned to David.

“Opinions?” he invited.

“It wasn’t Terminators,” Barnes put in before David could speak. “They weren’t the ones shooting, anyway.”

“I agree,” David said. “You can pick those miniguns of theirs out of a crowd any day of the week.”

“True,” Connor said. “But not shooting doesn’t necessarily mean not there.”

“It was a sentry line,” Kate said quietly, a look of understanding appearing on her face. “Skynet has closed off the neighborhood.”

Connor nodded heavily. Someone, maybe that group of men and burros who had passed them awhile back, had tried to get out of the neighborhood and had been stopped.

“Which means we don’t have until tomorrow night, like we’ve been assuming,” he said. “We have until tonight.”

He looked around the room, watching as their expressions went from stunned to overwhelmed, and then to hard and cold and determined. They were a good team, and a tough team. If anyone could pull this off, Connor knew, they could.

It was Tunney who officially put it into words.

“We’ll be ready,” he said.

“Then let’s get to it,” Connor said. “Tunney, David: get your teams and gear together. Leave any spare equipment or food you were saving for later—we’re traveling light. Final coordination run-through in ten minutes.”

He gestured to Barnes.

“As for you, your mission’s just been changed. Collect your team and meet me in the corner.”

Orozco was outside Moldering Lost Ashes, walking the building’s northern perimeter, when he heard the sound of distant gunfire.

And there was no doubt—none at all—as to what it meant.

Oh, God, he pleaded silently. Please, no. Not Kyle and Star.

He stood motionless, a cold breeze whipping dust through his hair, listening as the single gun became many, then none, then became three explosions that he knew had to be the bombs he’d given Kyle.

And then, silence.

Ninety seconds later, Orozco was back inside, hurrying across the lobby toward Grimaldi’s office.

Wadleigh and Killough were standing outside the door, talking together in low voices. They looked up as Orozco approached.

“The chief’s busy right now,” Wadleigh said, holding up a hand.

Without slowing down, Orozco strode between the two men, deflecting Wadleigh’s hand with his forearm as the other made a belated grab for him. Twisting the knob, he shoved open the door and stepped inside.

Grimaldi was busy, all right. He was talking very quietly, very earnestly, and very closely with Candace Tomlinson, the seventeen-year-old girl from the food dispute that morning. Both of their heads snapped around as Orozco stormed into the room, identical expressions of chagrin flashing across their faces.

Grimaldi, at least, had the grace to blush. Or maybe it was a flush of anger.

“What the hell do you think—?”

“Candace, get out of here,” Orozco cut him off. “The chief and I need to talk.”

The girl, incredibly stubborn when it came to her possessions and her rights, nevertheless knew when not to argue. She scrambled out of her chair, gingerly circled Orozco, and fled the room.

Orozco swung the door shut behind her.

“First of all, this wasn’t what you think,” Grimaldi growled, managing as usual to get in the first word. “I was talking to her about her habit of snooping into—”

“Forget Candace,” Orozco again cut him off. “Forget everything. The Terminators are coming.”

Grimaldi seemed to draw back a little.

“Really,” he said, his voice back on balance again. “And you know this how?”

“Nguyen and his men left earlier this afternoon,” Orozco said. “I was just outside, and I heard gunfire—a lot of gunfire—coming from the direction they would have taken.”

“Did you hear any T-600 miniguns?” Grimaldi asked.

Orozco blinked. It was an obvious question, but not one he would have expected to come from Grimaldi.

“No,” he conceded. “But they hardly need to use their guns to kill people.”

“Not exactly my point,” Grimaldi said. “But fine. My next question would have been who shot first. But if there wasn’t any T-600 gunfire I guess that one’s already been answered, hasn’t it?”

Orozco grimaced. It was obvious where Grimaldi was going with this.

“Chief, I know you believe the Terminators don’t attack unless someone attacks them first,” he said, fighting hard to keep his voice calm and reasonable. “But that’s just not true. I’ve seen it happen. They block off a neighborhood, then come in—”

“Yes, we’ve all heard your little horror stories,” Grimaldi interrupted. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember you ever showing us any actual proof.”

“What sort of proof do you want?” Orozco demanded. “A pile of bodies riddled with minigun rounds? I’ve already told you that Skynet usually sends in scavengers afterwards to collect the bodies, for God only knows what purpose.”

“And anything they miss becomes coyote and rat food, I suppose,” Grimaldi said with a maddeningly patient nod.

“It’s an interesting story. I, on the other hand, have ten years of experience that says if you leave the Terminators alone, they’ll leave you alone.”

“Your experience is worthless,” Orozco snapped. t “Skynet’s left us alone here because it was busy elsewhere. But now it’s our turn. The Terminators are coming. We have got to get everyone our.”

Grimaldi shook his head.

“No.”

Orozco took a step toward the desk.

“We’re getting everyone out,” he said, resting his hand on his holstered Beretta. “Give the order, or I’ll give it for you.”

To his credit, Grimaldi didn’t even flinch.

“Mutiny, Sergeant?”

“Replacing a superior who’s shown himself unfit for command,” Orozco countered. “Now give the order.”