Trial By Fire

examination of the rifle on the wall. It seemed to be in decent enough shape, though it was impossible to tell what kind of damage might be lurking in its inner workings. It was a moot point, though, since the weapon wasn’t loaded and there was no place in the cabin where a cache of shells might be stored. If push came to shove, he would just have to hope he could make do with the single remaining round in his Smith & Wesson.

Ten minutes later, he was stretched out on the cot, which with all its rips and sags and odors was still the best bed he’d had in a long, long time. He would sleep as long as he could, he decided, then see if a fire in the stove might lure the Terminator away from his post. If it did, he was home free.

If it didn’t... well, he would deal with that when the time came.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Before Judgment Day, Baker’s Hollow had been a tiny flyspeck community whose main function in life was to act as a jumping-off point for hikers, fishermen, and hunters heading further up into the mountains. At its height, it had boasted fifty houses, many of which were bed-and-breakfasts or vacation rentals, a well-stocked general store, an RV parking area, and three guide services. Nearly two hundred people had lived in town during the tourist season, though many of them packed up and left when the first early snows began to fall.

That had been Baker’s Hollow at its height. Now, it was at its depth. Only twenty of the fifty houses remained, the rest having been scavenged for wood and brick to keep the others habitable. The old general store had been turned into a workshop for the metal, cloth, and leather workers. The last remaining guide service office had been converted into a smokehouse for curing deer and elk. The permanent population, including the dribble of people who’d stumbled into town over the years, now sat at eighty-seven.

And better than half of those eighty-seven were waiting outside Preston’s door when he emerged from his house just after sunrise.

Apparently, news of the T-700 at the river had already leaked out.

“Morning, everyone,” he said, nodding as he swept his eyes over the crowd. “Something I can help you with?”

“We hear we’ve got a Terminator,” Duke Halverson said bluntly. As usual, he’d made sure to take up the most prominent position, right in the center of the group and two steps in front of everyone else. “That true?”

“There’s one down by the river, yes,” Preston said. There was no point in denying it—chances were good that Halverson had already checked it out for himself. “It’s on the far side, by the ford.”

“You have a plan for dealing with it?”

“We’re working on one,” Preston told him. “For the moment, it doesn’t seem interested in the town.”

“What happens when it does get interested in the town?” Halverson persisted. “What then?”

Preston gave the crowd another, more careful look. Eight of them were hunters, Halverson’s allies, ready to back anything the big man said or proposed. Twelve of the others were Preston’s friends and normally his firm supporters in town disputes. Right now, though, they looked more apprehensive than supportive. The rest were just ordinary citizens of Baker’s Hollow who usually avoided town politics and concentrated on basic survival.

All of them, Halverson included, were frightened. As well they should be.

“If the Terminator decides to head this way,” Preston said, “I’m thinking the prudent thing might be to move out of town for a while.”

“And go where?” Halverson demanded.

“There are a few habitable cabins out there,” Preston reminded him, again looking around. No one seemed any happier than Halverson at the prospect of leaving. “We could split up into small groups, each centered around one of them, and wait until the Terminator leaves.”

“Those cabins won’t hold even a tenth of us,” Halverson pointed out. “What about everyone else? We just going to sleep out on the ground with the coyotes and bears?”

“At least bears don’t usually attack without a reason,” Preston said.

“Yeah.” Halverson gestured, a quick flick of his fingers. “We need to talk.”

“We are talking,” Preston said mildly. “But you’re right—it’s a bit brisk out here.” He half turned. “We’d all be more comfortable inside.”

“Just you and me,” Halverson said, striding toward him.

Preston felt his stomach tighten.

“Halverson—”

“Chris, go get my team together and send them over to Ned’s place,” Halverson cut him off, motioning to one of the hunters. “The rest of you, go back to work. We’ll let you know what we decide.”

“Right,” Chris said briskly before anyone else could speak up. “Let’s go, everyone. Clothes and metalwork don’t repair themselves, you know.”

A few troubled looks came Preston’s way as the group broke up. But no one said anything, and a minute later Preston and Halverson were alone.

“Like you said, it’s brisk out here,” Halverson said.

Silently, Preston gestured at the door. Halverson strode past him and went inside. Grimacing, Preston followed.

“This isn’t right, you know,” he warned as Halverson planted himself in the center of the living room and turned to face him. “All decisions are supposed to be run past the council.”

“Do I look like I care?” Halverson retorted, the thin mask of politeness he’d been wearing outside now gone completely. “The council is a bunch of fools. None of them would survive a week on their own.”

“The work they do is important, too.”

Halverson made a face. “Stoves. Clothes. Traps.”

“Hey, Chucker’s bear traps saved your skin at least once,” Preston countered. “And don’t forget medical care, vegetable gardening, and replacement arrows for you and the rest of the hunters. You can sneer all you want, but you can’t deny that life in town is easier for you and Ginny than it would be if you were alone out in the wild.”

“I don’t deny it,” Halverson said with a grunt. “But that’s only as long as we’re in the town. Once we leave it, the gardeners and stove-fixers aren’t going to be worth much, are they? Not much point in Ginny and me even hanging around if that happens.”

Preston hissed out a sigh. “How many times are you going to do this, Duke?” he asked quietly. “How many times are you going to threaten to take your wife and your friends and walk out if the town doesn’t do what you want?”

“You don’t like me?” Halverson challenged, just as quietly. “Replace me. Until you do, I’ve got a right to speak up the same as anyone else.”

He leveled a finger at Preston.

“But we’re not talking about quotas or crop shares this time. We’re talking about survival. There’s a Terminator sitting on our doorstep, and we damn well have to do something about it.”

“What do you think we’ve just been talking about?”

“What you’ve been talking about is giving up,” Halverson said. “Giving up and running away.”

“Only temporarily.”

“Yeah, and isn’t it funny how easy temporary turns into permanent,” Halverson said with a sniff. “And I’m serious. If we have to give up this town and these buildings, there’s no reason for Ginny and me to stay with the group. I can hunt enough just fine for the two of us. And have enough spare time left over to make my own arrows.”

“And if you go, you’ll take Chris and Ned and Trounce with you?”

“Hey, we’re all free citizens,” Halverson said with a shrug. “I don’t speak for anyone except myself.”

But whether he spoke for them or not, Preston knew, most of the town’s best hunters looked up to Halverson. Many of them would follow the same logic he’d just laid out, and desert Baker’s Hollow right alongside him.

Without the hunters, the town was doomed. And when the town died, so would any chance for even a