Terminator Salvation: Cold War (21 page)

The rough terrain pitched sharply downward in a perfect hill for sledding, as proven by the deep impressions carved into the snow. Another ancient ore cart rested at the top of the slope. The camp’s kids often used it as a fort during frenzied snowball fights. It offered little refuge against a Terminator.

Not wanting to risk a spill, Molly slid down the hill on her butt, all the way onto the frozen stream. Then she half-ran, half-crawled out to the middle of the river, where the ice was thickest, before clambering to her feet just in time to see the Terminator stomping down the incline after her. Its ponderous steel legs sank deeply into the snow, preventing it from slipping. Frozen blood caked its intimidating endoskeleton. The chainsaw whirred in its grip.

No more running.

She faced the Terminator across a glistening expanse of white. Her aching legs were grateful for the respite. Panting, she silently dared the machine to follow her out onto the river. A T-600 weighed over 800 pounds. Could the frozen river support that much weight? Molly was gambling her life that it couldn’t.

“Here I am!” she taunted. “Come and get me. No guts, no glory!”

The machine paused at the edge of the stream. T-600s couldn’t drown, but they couldn’t swim either. Its red sensor scanned the ice, calculating the risk factors. It stepped tentatively onto the frozen surface, which cracked loudly beneath its weight. Water seeped up through minute fissures. The Terminator withdrew its foot, retreating further back onto the shore.

Molly nearly screamed in frustration.

“What’s the matter? Chicken?” She couldn’t stand here all night, waiting for the machine to make its move. If she crossed the river, the Terminator would just take the bridge upstream and keep after her, maybe all the way to the rendezvous point.
Should have had someone blow the bridge on the way out.
She scanned the black and smoky sky. Still no sign of HKs, but it was only a matter of time. For all she knew, an entire battalion of Terminators was marching toward the camp at this very minute.

This was no time to dick around.

“C’mon, you’re just another damn T-600. A dime a dozen. Expendable!” She fired her pistol at the monster’s remaining optical sensor. The bullet bounced off its armored socket. “Take a risk, why don’t you? I’m worth it, I promise. John Connor!”

The Terminator had another idea. Putting down the chainsaw, it bent over and yanked a large boulder out of the muddy soil alongside the stream. It hurled the rock at the ice near Molly. She dived out of the way, skidding across the surface. The missile collided with the frozen surface, which cracked but did not shatter beneath the impact. Hairline fractures spider-webbed across the top of the river, only a few yards away from Molly.

Puddles formed atop the ice.

Molly grasped the Terminator’s strategy. It was trying to drive her off the river by leaving her no place to stand.

Not a bad plan, actually. There was no way she could make it to the opposite shore in time to avoid going for a swim.

“Fuck!”

The T-600 searched the shore for another boulder. Finding a suitable chunk of granite, it lifted the missile above its head. Servomotors whirred in its arms and shoulders. It took aim at the fractured ice. Another good hit would be enough to break the thick sheet apart in a big way. Molly shivered in anticipation. Ice water lapped against her boots. This was going to be cold...

The Terminator was about to hurl the boulder like a catapult when a high-pitched
whoop
came from the top of the hill.

“Heads up, one-eye!” Rusty wheels squeaked loudly as the old mining cart rolled down the incline toward the T-600. Picking up speed with every inch, the heavy iron conveyance slammed into the Terminator from behind, the momentum knocking the machine out onto the stream, only a few feet away from Molly. It slid across the ice on its mechanical hands and knees, scoring the frozen surface.

The ice cracked and split beneath it.

Sitka capered jubilantly atop the slope. Gloved hands gripped the sturdy piece of metal rebar she had used as a lever. Vic Folger stood behind her, wiping the sweat from his brow. Molly guessed that he had given the cart a good shove as well.

“Score!” the teenager crowed, as if she had just bowled a strike. She waved the rebar in the air. Her wild red mane blew across her face. “Sink or swim, metal!”

Recognizing its peril, the T-600 stood up abruptly, even as the ice gave way beneath it. Articulated steel fingers grasped for a hold as it sank beneath the surface, but could not find purchase on the tilting planes of ice. Its red eye glared at Molly right before it went under. Ice water splashed against her face.

Good riddance!
Molly thought. The stream was maybe twelve feet deep at its center. With luck, the current would carry the Terminator all the way down to the glacier, where it would remain frozen until global warming turned Alaska into a rainforest.
Unless we get another nuclear winter before this war is over.

The ice continued to come apart all around her. Molly realized she was only heartbeats away from joining the Terminator in the drink. Scrambling to her feet, she skipped across the crumbling ice, jumping from chunk to chunk as though they were stepping stones. Dislodged fragments tilted alarmingly beneath her feet. Frigid water splashed against her boots. She cartwheeled her arms to hang onto her balance. It was like running across some sort of arctic obstacle course.

Her right fist still gripped her pistol.

“Atta girl!” Sitka urged her on from the shore. “You can do it! Don’t fall in!”

Not planning to.
Molly couldn’t think of anything more stupid than being swept under the ice after they had finally got rid of the invader. Too many people had already died tonight. Drowning was not on her agenda.

“That’s it, chief!” Folger cheered her on, sounding just like the soccer coach he used to be. He’d been on a winning streak before Judgment Day. “Only a few more feet!”

Solid ground was tantalizingly close. Molly could practically feel it beneath her feet already. A couple more leaps and she’d be clear of the river. She started thinking ahead to her next move. In theory, there was an emergency snowmobile hidden in a gully outside camp. If they squeezed tight, it could carry all three of them....

A metal hand smashed through the ice beneath her. Ice-cold fingers wrapped around her right ankle, squeezing tightly enough that soon they would grind the bones together. 800 pounds of Terminator weighed her down like an anchor.

She fell forward on her face, then began sliding backward into the water.

Sitka screamed from the shore.

“No fucking way!” Molly blurted out through the pain. She swung her arm back and emptied her pistol into the Terminator’s wrist. Damaged hydraulics spurted fluid. The machine’s grip loosened a little. She yanked her foot free, leaving her boot behind, and the Terminator grabbed for her again. But then a heavy slab of ice slammed into it, causing it to lose its footing.

The current caught the machine and swept it under the ice once more.

She prayed that this time it would be for good.

WARNING: LOSS OF TRACTION. MOBILITY COMPROMISED.

The HUD displays flashed repeatedly before the T-600’s single optical sensor. It struggled to regain its footing, but the stream was too deep, the current too strong. The slippery floor of the river offered no easy purchase.

Its fingers grabbed onto a slimy rock, only to have it come loose from the silty earth. There was no way to anchor itself. Driven by gravity, the relentless ice shoved it forward. The Terminator crashed over a waterfall into the glacier below.

It sank like a stone.

SITUATION CRITICAL. TOTAL SYSTEM FAILURE IMMINENT.

Freezing water penetrated its circuits. Tons of glacial ice squeezed it like a vise. Its cranial case caved inward, threatening its vulnerable central processing unit. The grizzly bear’s tooth floated loose. Facing termination, the T-600 tried to transmit an update to Skynet, but the dense frozen mass above it blocked the signal. Its solitary red sensor flickered dimly amidst the frigid blue coldness.

The Terminator had no regrets. It felt no fear. It could only futilely attempt to fulfill its programming—until it could not.

Water invaded its neural network. Electricity arced within its skull. The colossal pressure crushed the CPU. The blood-red sensor went black.

WARNING: SYSTEM FAIL—

Alaska terminated the invader.

Molly limped to shore, her stockinged foot crunching through the thin ice at the very edge of the stream. Her ankle felt like it was bruised, not broken. A soggy sock was already starting to freeze solid, though. As soon as she reached land, she peeled it off and shoved it into her pocket. She’d be lucky if she didn’t end up losing a toe or two to frostbite.

But she was alive. And the Terminator was history.

Works for me.

Sitka slid down the hill to meet her, followed quickly by Folger.

“Yikes!” the girl exclaimed. “Thought you were a goner for sure!” Jagged floes of ice rushed downstream after the Terminator. “Metal didn’t know when to quit!”

“They never do,” Molly said. She shot Sitka a dirty look. “You are so grounded.”

The teenager shrugged it off.

“Worth it.” She fished a fresh pair of socks from her overstuffed pockets and handed them to Molly. “Get my red armband now?”

“Maybe when you learn to follow orders.” She put both socks on over her bare foot, grateful for Sitka’s packrat tendencies. Then she glanced at Folger. “Thought I told you to get her out of here.”

The man threw up his hands.

“
You
try controlling this brat.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “And I don’t hit kids, no matter how much they deserve it.”

Fair enough,
Molly thought. She couldn’t really complain. Sitka and Folger had come through when she needed them, orders or no orders.
Typical,
she reflected.
Humans don’t just follow instructions blindly. We’re unpredictable. We deviate from our programming. That’s what makes us different from the machines.

Ernie Wisetongue would approve.

The glow from the burning camp lit up the night. The flames had even reached the breaker now. By morning, nothing would be left of the old mining town but ashes and rubble. The bodies of their fallen comrades were already being cremated along with their homes. She glanced up at the sky. Still no sign of any HKs, but she knew they would be here soon.

Molly turned her back on the blaze.

“Time to go.”

Losenko and Ivanov rushed into the control room. The pinging of the unknown vessel’s sonar echoed within the command center—it was a sound no submariner ever wanted to hear. Anxious crewmen gazed upward at the ceiling, wondering who had found them after all this time. Ironically, it was the most animated that Losenko had seen them in many weeks. Fear displaced the malaise that had hung over the men since Judgment Day.

“Do we have an identification?” the captain demanded, reclaiming the conn. “Report!”

Sonarman Yuri Michenko was ready with an update.

“A warship, sir. Less than four kilometers away and closing fast. Acoustic signature indicates a Kashinclass destroyer.” Behind a pair of thick glasses, the youth’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I think it’s the
Smetlivy,
sir!”

One of ours?
Losenko could scarcely believe it.
Smetlivy
was a four-ton destroyer driven by powerful gas turbine engines. Deployed as a guided missile platform, it boasted an impressive array of missiles, torpedoes, rocket launchers, and close-range guns. It was also, he recalled, one of the first Russian warships designed to seal itself off from radioactive fallout in the event of nuclear war. It made sense that the destroyer might have survived Judgment Day.

The mood in the command center instantly shifted from apprehension to jubilation. Smiles broke out across the faces of men who had thought they were alone in the world. A hubbub of excited voices almost drowned out the pinging of the warship’s sonar.

“It’s a miracle!” the helmsman exclaimed. “We’ve found our brothers!”

Even Ivanov appeared elated by the news. His sullen expression lightened; for the first time in too long, he looked like the intrepid young officer Losenko remembered.

“Shall we rise to meet them, sir?” he inquired.

“With discretion, Mr. Ivanov.” The captain understood the men’s enthusiasm, and even shared it to a degree, but he was cautious as well. He had not forgotten what he had found on the mainland months ago. Anarchy and violence had consumed the world they knew. Civilization was a thing of the past. With the Motherland in chaos, there was no guarantee that the
Gorshkov
and the
Smetlivy
still served the same masters. He did not wish to blindly welcome pirates—or worse. “Ascend to periscope depth. And release the communication buoy.”

Strung out behind the sub on a wire, the buoy would increase their ability to monitor transmissions from the destroyer.

The periscope pedestal tilted beneath his feet as K-115 climbed up from the depths, leveling out at roughly twenty-five meters below the surface. “Scope’s breaking,” the officer of the deck reported, unable to conceal the anticipation in his voice. He stepped aside to let Losenko see for himself. The overhead lights were dimmed to avoid reflecting the light up through the periscope, where it might give away their position. Display panels glowed like exotic bioluminescent fish in a darkened aquarium.

The captain seized the periscope’s handles and peered into the eyepiece.

It was twilight above the sea. White water lapped against the reticle. He glimpsed lurid red skies on the horizon.

“Position of contact?”

“Bearing three-one-zero,” Michenko reported. Headphones connected him with the sonar shack. Overhead video monitors, slaved to the main sonar array, monitored the destroyer via phosphorescent green waterfalls of data. “Contact slowing to seven knots.”