Terminator Salvation - From the Ashes

But seldom was the price as high as it had been tonight.

Kate finished unpacking her equipment and hung her jacket on top of her rifle. Then, not bothering to undress any farther, she climbed into the bed, rolling up onto her side and turning her face toward the wall. Setting down the rest of his own gear, Connor climbed into bed behind her.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

“Yes.” She hesitated. “But first I need to apologize. I shouldn’t have sneaked off against orders to join Barnes’ squad. Apart from the fact that you’re my husband, you’re also my commander. It was inexcusable, and it jeopardized the whole mission.”

Connor shrugged. “I don’t know about the jeopardized part. I gather the only person who knew I hadn’t actually sent you was me.”

“Which could have been more than enough to get everyone killed,” she reminded him soberly.

“No, I was right the first time. Anything that distracts you affects your judgment, and damages your ability to be who you need to be. And if my presence on a mission is that distraction, then I just have to stay home.”

“Or I need to adjust to you being who you need to be,” Connor pointed out, resting his hand on her shoulder. “And the fact remains that if you hadn’t been there, Reynolds would probably have died. You did good, Kate.”

Her shoulder seemed to tighten beneath his hand. “Not good enough,” she said in a low voice.

“All those people…Orozco…”

“I know,” Connor said. “I wish we could have saved them, too. But we don’t always get what we wish for. We gave it everything we could. It just wasn’t enough.”

“But Orozco,” Kate objected, some fire finally coming back into her voice. “Why would a strong, competent military man do something like that? Can someone really hate authority that much?”

“It’s possible.” Connor hesitated. “Or maybe it’s that he hates us that much.”

Kate rolled over to face him, her eyes wide.

“Us? But we tried to help.”

“But we’re part of the official Resistance now,” Connor reminded her. “The people who didn’t show up to help until it was too late.”

Kate’s face went rigid.

“You mean Orozco thinks—? Oh, John.”

Connor nodded, forcing back a surge of frustration of his own.

“I know,” he said. “And there’s nothing we can do about it, either. Except try to make sure it never happens again.”

He ran his fingers gently across her cheek. “But don’t worry about Orozco,” he added. “He’s a survivor. He’ll be okay.”

“I hope so,” Kate said, laying her hand on top of his. “And as long as I’m apologizing, I also need to apologize for the way I’ve been lately. I think I’m—well, I need to check, of course, but all the signs are that—I mean—”

“Hey, relax,” Connor said gently, smiling at her sudden babbling. He’d seen that a lot after missions, and it was a lot healthier than her earlier silent act. “Like I said, you did good out there.

Barnes and Simmons both told me that, and you know how hard it is to get those two to agree on anything.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” Kate said. “Since you probably aren’t going to take me on any more missions for awhile.”

Connor grinned. “Why? Because you get all dark and moody when it’s all over?”

She smiled, a hint of the old impish Kate peeking through.

“No,” she said, lifting her hand from his and resting it on his cheek. “Because I think I’m pregnant.”

And for the first time in years, John Connor couldn’t find a single thing to say.

EPILOGUE

For a long time after the sound of the helicopters faded away Orozco just stayed where he was, propped up against the remnants of the barricade that hadn’t done a damn bit of good, chewing on the ration bars Kate Connor had left him and sipping from the water bottle.

From time to time he thought about being responsible and saving some of the food for later. But it all tasted good, and he was ravenous, and he really needed to build back his strength. And anyway, later might never come.

After about an hour, though, he decided he was tired of sitting. His hip was still weak and tender where the Terminator slug had grazed it, but his M16 made a reasonably good walking stick.

Carefully, he levered his way back to his feet.

For a long minute he just stood there, balancing on his left leg and the M16, looking around at the wreckage of everything he’d known for the past two years. He knew he should be angry, or bitter, or at least sad. But all he felt was empty.

Maybe it was the morphine Kate had given him. Maybe once the pain came back, some emotion would, too.

But there was no point just standing around waiting for that to happen. He might as well do what he could to stay alive, if for no better reason than to keep Skynet’s victory tonight from being a complete hundred percent.

The first step—literally—would be to get a little more mobile. Three of Moldering Lost Ashes’

older residents had walked with crutches, and one of them had had two sets. His room had been off the north corridor, here on the ground level where he wouldn’t have to deal with stairs, and there was a good chance his spare set of crutches was still there. Favoring his right leg as much as he could, Orozco began picking his way through the debris.

He had reached the north corridor and was working his way along it when he found Sibanda.

He paused there, resting on his rifle, gazing down at the body. The bodies, rather—the thin pastor still had his arms wrapped around two of the younger children. He’d probably been trying to shield them with his own body when the Terminator shot them down.

Once again, Orozco tried to feel something. Once again, he found himself unable to do so.

Giving Sibanda’s body a final salute, he started to walk past.

He’d gone two steps when the crucial question suddenly penetrated his mental haze.

What in the world had Sibanda been doing back here?

He turned around, frowning down at the bodies. There were no rooms nearby that Sibanda might have been trying to take refuge in. No access to the upper floors or basement, even if going to either place would have done him any good. Had the man simply panicked and started dragging the children around in circles?

And then, Orozco raised his eyes from the bodies to the wall behind them. The wall, and the empty window frame.

It was tricky getting through the window with his bad hip, but Orozco managed it. Working his way along the twisting passageway among the rubble, he finally made it to the drainage tunnel manhole cover. The cover had been sealed earlier that afternoon, just as Orozco had ordered.

Sometime in the hours after that, someone had unsealed it.

The crowbar he and Wadleigh had used to pry up the cover was still there. But Orozco was alone this time, with a bad hip and an almost useless left arm, and the cover seemed to have somehow picked up about a ton of weight.

He was working and swearing at it when the cover was suddenly pushed up from the inside and a pair of hands shoved it part way off to the side.

Dropping the crowbar, Orozco snatched his Beretta from its holster and thumbed off the safety.

“Who’s there?” he demanded. “Show yourself.”

“Don’t shoot,” a scared, quavering voice called. The hands still clutching the rim of the cover shifted to the edge of the hole near the ladder.