Trial By Fire

play hide-and-seek with a Terminator. Even one armed only with a relatively short-range shotgun.

But hanging around a wide-open area with a semifunctional T-700 crawling around wasn’t any better.

“We find ourselves some cover,” he replied, climbing back over the wall out of the cabin. “You know of any defensible places nearby?”

“I don’t know,” Preston said. “That’s not something we usually think about.”

“Then it’s time you started,” Barnes said grimly. “Let’s go take a look.”

The conversation between the helicopter and the woods went back and forth, back and forth. Blair continued to probe for information from behind a tree across the clearing, while Lajard crouched out of sight beneath the control board and bragged about how clever he and Skynet had been.

Through it all, Hope stood silently behind her own chosen tree, her hands gripping her bow and her nocked arrow, her heart thudding with anticipation and dread.

Her soul aching as it never had before.

She, Hope Preston, was about to shoot another human being.

Not accidentally, the way beginner hunters sometimes did. This wouldn’t be any accident, a careless slip of the finger. It would be deliberate, direct, and premeditated.

It would be like murder.

They’re not human, she tried to remind herself, as she’d been trying ever since Blair first suggested this plan. Not anymore. They’re machines. They’re Terminators.

But no matter how many times she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. Not completely.

Because they were human. Real, living, thinking people. People Hope had lived with for three long months. She’d hunted with them, eaten with them, laughed with them. Once, six weeks ago when whooping cough had taken two of the town’s children, she’d cried with them.

And now, she was going to shoot one of them. Maybe both of them.

Even worse, she was going to shoot them from behind.

And then, without warning, a sudden gunshot shattered the calm.

She jumped, her body twitching so hard that it jerked the arrow off the bowstring. Had Blair given up on her and decided to take matters into her own hands?

Hastily, Hope nocked the arrow into place again. Carefully, tensely, she looked around the side of her tree.

She was still trying to figure it out when a second shot hammered into her ears.

Only this time she spotted the flash from across the clearing and caught a glimpse of sparks as Blair’s shot ricocheted off the helicopter’s roof, beside the shaft that connected the helicopter to the big overhead rotor.

Blair wasn’t even shooting at Lajard and Susan. Was she trying to wreck the helicopter?

And then, she got it. Blair was only pretending to shoot at the rotor, pretending that she’d given up hope of taking the aircraft back.

She was trying to lure the others into a counterattack. An attack that would turn Susan’s attention toward Blair, and her back toward Hope.

With a conscious effort, Hope relaxed her clenched teeth. It had to be done. Drawing back the bowstring, she waited.

A third shot caromed off the roof... and with that, Susan finally rose from the pilot’s seat and stepped past Lajard’s half-concealed form to the far side of the cockpit. Taking hold of the door-mounted machine gun, she swung it toward Blair’s position.

And as Hope’s eyes blurred with sudden tears, she sent her arrow flying into the back of her friend’s head.

She had expected a gasp, or a scream, or at the very least a violent spasm in response. But there was nothing. Susan’s head snapped forward with the impact, but she made no sound. She regained her balance and again took hold of the machinegun.

Blinking back her tears, Hope drew another arrow from her quiver and set it into the bowstring. Maybe she’d missed the spot.

Or maybe Blair had been wrong about there being a vulnerable point there. In that case, Blair was already dead.

So, probably, was Hope.

And then, Susan froze.

Hope stared at the woman’s back, her heart pounding even harder as she drew back the bowstring. Slowly, Susan turned around, and even in the fading light Hope could see the pain, confusion, and disbelief on her face.

And with a huffing gasp that Hope could hear all the way across the clearing, the woman stepped away from the gun and bent over, her hands jabbing into the space beneath the control board like a pair of striking rattlesnakes. There was a strangled gasp, and she straightened up, hauling Lajard up out of his hiding place by his upper arms.

“No!” Lajard gasped. His grabbed at her wrists, trying to pry her hands away.

But those were Terminator hands, and no mere human had a prayer of breaking their hold. Lajard tried to pull back, then tried to rock or squirm his way out of her grip. None of it worked.

“No,” he snarled. “Valentine—listen to me. Attack Williams, not me. Williams, not me.”

“No,” Susan breathed, her voice dark and husky. “Traitor.” Still holding onto his arm with her left hand, she let go with her right and shifted her grip to his throat. “Traitor!”

Through the far door, Hope saw Blair emerge from cover and run toward the helicopter, her gun ready in her hand.

“Traitor?” Lajard echoed. He jabbed his finger against Susan’s chest. “Fool.” He raised his voice. “You like kill switches, Williams? Try this one. Dies irae.”

Abruptly, Susan’s shoulders sagged, her hands slipping from Lajard’s arm and throat and dropping like broken tree branches to her sides. Her mouth dropped open and she gave a strangled gasp.

Contemptuously, Lajard turned away from her, swiveling toward Blair. His right hand darted under his jacket and emerged with a small pistol. Blair skidded to a halt, snapping up her gun toward him.

Frantically, Hope pulled back on the bowstring, knowing full well that her arrow would never make it to Lajard’s back in time. The two guns were nearly homed in on their respective targets, and in less than a heartbeat Blair or Lajard—or both of them—would be dead.

And then, the thundercrack of a shot boomed across the clearing. Not from Lajard or Blair, but from somewhere to Hope’s right.

The impact slammed Lajard into Susan, his head exploding with blood that sprayed across her face and onto the rear cockpit wall. He bounced off her immobile body even as Hope’s arrow belatedly dug itself into his back. His knees gave way, and he fell to the deck.

Shaking like a windblown leaf, Hope stepped from her hiding place and peered across the clearing.

Halverson was limping toward them, his face rigid with pain, his shirt wet with perspiration, his rifle still pressed to his shoulder. His gaze flicked to Hope, then to Blair, then back to the helicopter.

“You two okay?” he called gruffly.

“Yes,” Blair said for both of them as she climbed up into the cockpit. Crouching over Lajard, she twisted the pistol out of his hand.

She was peering down at the body when Susan gave a long, hissing sigh and collapsed.

Blair was saying something about staying back as Hope raced to the helicopter. Hope ignored her, brushing past and dropping onto her knees at Susan’s side.

“Susan?” she called, wincing at her friend’s blood-spattered face and her closed eyes. “Can you hear me? Susan, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Susan murmured, her eyes flicking half open. “I’m the one who’s sorry, not you. I’m the one... I didn’t want to hurt you, Hope. I never wanted to hurt you. But I couldn’t... I couldn’t.”

“But you did,” Hope assured her, her throat aching. “You broke Skynet’s programming. You stopped him.”

Susan shook her head wearily.