Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles

by Sarabibliomania

"Amanda Jaclyn Reid. Born August 7th, 1984," Cameron began, listing the details as she wrapped the bandage around the knee and ignoring my flinch as it touched on the ripped skin. "More commonly known by history as Amanda Connor. Wife of John Conner, mother to his children and future joint leader of the Resistance." OC

1. Pilot

I adjusted my bag strap over my shoulder and fingered the fray of it so the threads grew soft on my skin. 5'10? Lanky brown hair in desperate need of a hair cut? Clothes that had never fit and were past the point of worn? He fit the description but it still felt off putting it all together. He looked young. He looked ... ordinary. Not what you assumed the future leader of the resistance to look like and not even what you imagined he'd start out looking like. He was too short, too skinny, too quiet looking too ... defeated looking. Like he had already known the world and it had broken him before the war had really begun. Not something to inspire hope in and certainly not someone to place all your trust on. But maybe that was the great irony of life that you never fully saw what was really there and had to fill in the missing pieces yourself when they didn't. Or something equally disheartening. I balanced my shoulder against the corner and rocked it back and forth, working various introductions back and forth in my head and cringing at the taste of each one. How do you make friends with someone when you have to plan out how it happens and the fate of the world may fall on its success? There was pressure within pressure to that and it made the rocking dizzying and I stopped mid rock, the edge grinding through my jacket and carving into my skin. I pulled my bag strap again over my shoulder and pushed off the wall and walked over to where he was fumbling with his locker, brow furrowed and tongue stuck between his teeth as he turned the dial back and forth to the various grooves and becoming more frustrated each time his attempts fell flat. Savior to our kind and he couldn't open a damn locker.
"Having trouble?" I leaned against the one next to him and time having run out leaving me with the first "hello" I could come up with. It wouldn't go down in history – or maybe it would I didn't know – but it suited the moment and caused him to look up with the clear message in his eyes shyly asking me to "go away."
"No. I'm fine," He nodded to book end his answer and turned back to the dial, turning it more carefully this time as if shaking hands had hindered his progress and steady ones would aid it.
"Are you sure? Because ... this is my locker," I let the epiphany sink in and the dial dropped in his hands as he looked at it and an embarrassed grin crossed his lips and he laughed awkwardly, letting go of it finally and the metal clanging against metal.
"Sorry," he said, laugh still in his voice and making it sound softer where uglier things in life had made it a rare sound. I liked it though. It made him seem friendlier. Younger and even more ordinary then appearances alone had suggested but ... human. Which I guess was the whole point.
"First day?" I crossed my legs over one another and let the tip of my boot dig into the tile and work its way back and forth on the already dirtied floor.
"Is it that obvious?" He smirked, bangs falling into his eyes and making them darker now that I couldn't properly see them. Green. Or possibly hazel.
"Obvious but forgivable," I pushed myself off the locker which popped in the release of weight and turned as he did to walk down the hall, hands buried in his pockets and making them bulge low in the jean that was already half a size too big.
"When is it not forgivable?" It didn't need to be asked but I could pick up on his encouragement that he wanted the conversation to continue and that – no matter how poorly executed – it was his attempt to flirt.
"When you're an ass about it. The whole: New place, new me," I clicked my boots heel to toe as I walked to purposefully slow my steps and prolong the conversation as he did, hands at my sides and pulling at my bag straps so it tightened on my back and lifted almost up to my shoulders.
"And that's not allowed?" He feigned confusion and grinned again, ducking his head and the bangs back over his eyes and shadowing his face and making it appear older and younger at once. A little obvious but endearing all the same.
"I don't think it should be. Comes off kind of fake. I mean ... can a place really change a person?" I spun on the last word to face him and he stuttered to a stop, shy again in full and sweeping his hair back from his eyes and trying to hide how flattered he was at the attention though the point lost now that I could see his eyes and the sparkle that deepened the colour. Green. Definitely green.
"I don't know about a place but ... a person might," He smiled, cringing as he said it but looking hopeful that it might have struck a chord and sent butterflies in my stomach. I fumbled on a laugh despite myself, brushing back my hair and glancing up at him through the strands as if I was flattered and tugging on my sleeve under the illusion to hide shaking hands.
"Just might," I encouraged him and taking his bait as if it were his idea. Not disappointed he pulled on his own bag strap and fiddling with the adjustment to match my own actions – the two of us already in sync. A shrill ringing interrupted the "moment" and startled us both as I followed his laugh and glancing up at the peeling red bell high up on the wall and cursing it's "opportune" timing.

"You'll be responsible for three chapters a week ...," Mr. Ferguson droned and I watched him as he tried to pretend that I wasn't and that he didn't want to turn and check to see if I wasn't. He was running his fingers back through his hair and revealing the holes dotted along the cuff and poking strands through as it passed. He barely turned his head, still running his fingers through under the illusion of not looking while looking and saw that I was and nervously smiling. I returned it with an added blush I knew he wouldn't be able to resist and he grinned, flustered that I was watching and that I was supposedly affected as I was. It shouldn't have been this easy. Not something text book or that you could learn off the internet but here he was just as flattered as any teenage boy would get and with nothing more than a few sly smiles and a shirt low cut enough to get the blood pumping where it shouldn't be.
"...Make up test with a parent's note," Mr. Ferguson turned, glasses glinting on his nose and I bowed my head to my desk as it passed, waiting for him to turn back to the chalkboard and continue with what none of us were listening to. Well ... maybe those who actually thought they had a future to study for but I knew better. I glanced between my strands of hair to look over at him again and saw that he had returned his attention to the front, leaning his head on his arm and nervously scratching at his desk. I leaned my elbows off my notebook and ripped off the page I had half heartedly written notes on and scrawled awkwardly between the lines and folded it into fourths before leaning over to slide it under his arm and onto his desk. He jumped as my fingers touched him and threw a glance at me before back to the paper and unwrapping it in his lap: My name is Amanda.He turned back to look at me and I tucked my hair behind my ear, folding my hands back over the notebook and crinkling the edges of the paper. Persuaded he turned back to it and quickly wrote on the other side, pen scratching against the paper in his urgency to write back and the page ripped out from his hands as Mr. Ferguson stopped at his desk and took it for himself.
"I'll take that," he confirmed, quickly reading both sides and staring down his glasses at me as I innocently smiled back, hand tucked under my chin and the image of a perfect student. Something less easily found on the internet.
"As I was saying ...," He continued, folding his hands behind him with the note still between his fingers and walking back to the front. His head fell slightly, defeated as he apologetically threw me a glance and straightened in his seat to physically give himself the appearance of someone ready to learn though as I was he wasn't mentally into it. Mr. Ferguson reached the front and tossed the note into the trash can and even though I couldn't see it I knew what it said: My name is John.John Connor.

I sat against the racks that held up the bikes and shielded my eyes from the piercing New Mexico sun and over the students milling over the white polished steps and eager to get home already less than a week into the school year. John appeared out of the crowd of them and I straightened so he could see me better and my attempts not gone un noticed he made his way over to me, smoothing back his hair with his hand and pulling at the cuff on the opposite arm.
"Sorry about that," I said as he came within speaking distance and digging my boot tip into the concrete.
"No it's cool," He shrugged, hands again back in his pockets and swaying back on his heels as his hair moved with him and hiding his eyes from mine as disconcerting as it was.
"I'm Amanda," I held out my hand to him and he squinted at it before taking it with his own and shaking it gently, fingers trembling on mine and the feel lingering after they dropped.
"I know. That part I saw," he laughed slightly before taking note it wasn't funny and saving me the trouble of having to lie. "I'm John. John Reese."
"Like Reese's pieces?" I cringed as I said it but the damage already done and my stupidity out in the open. He didn't seem to mind though and was better at pretending it was funny then I would have been.
"Not exactly but it's a nice thought," he smiled warmly and despite myself I returned it of my own free will, lines creased into his cheeks and making him look even younger and more approachable then I had originally surmised. A distinct honk echoed through the chatter of students and I turned to look over at my shoulder at the dusted trunk parked up to the curb and the recognizable blur of a shape sitting in the driver's seat.
"That's my sister I should probably go," I jerked my thumb behind me to further clarify and stepped back as I did, dirt crunching under my boots and dusting up the sides.
"Yeah of course," he said, disappointed but hiding it. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Definitely," I bit my lip so my eagerness was visible and he grinned one last time as I turned away and jogged past the other kids in my way and to where the wheels touched the pavement. I gripped the car door handle and jerked it open with a screech stepped inside and onto the patchwork seat that used duct tape as its only solution. I slammed the door shut behind me and tossed my seat belt onto the floor, Cameron stiffly sitting next to me and watching out the window where John presumably still stood.
"You got him?" She asked, eyes still locked from mine and fingers tight on the steering wheel where she was still learning that skill not strength was necessary.
"Got him," I said, pulling on my seat belt and kicking my bag so it didn't cover my feet and to the front where the engine visibly hummed.
"Good," her eyes barely shifted as they followed him, chin turning slightly and in the light making it look shiny and almost plastic. I looked away, more comforted by the illusion then reality and running my nails along the lines of the rolled down window.
"Now what?" The metal was hot and burned my fingers but I carried it through until it curved up into the roof before finally pulling away.
"Now we wait," she jerked the truck out of park and it bumped against where it got too close to the curve and back onto the crowded road. I glanced over the crowd still on the steps and saw John standing in front of them, standing alone amongst everyone else and watching me as I went. He lifted an arm in the make of a wave and doing my part as always – I returned it.

He was wearing plaid today. Nicer colour and in better shape and his hair was combed back as I took the chance at the empty seat beside him and sitting on the hard plastic chair.
"Hey you," I said, tossing my bag at my feet and edging it away so it leaned against the leg. He partially smiled, unsure whether I was teasing or flirting and not sure how to reply to either.
"Hey ... you," he tried it himself and made it more sincere then I did and smiling fuller as he said it and probably hearing it as badly as I had said it.
"I like your shirt," I said nodding at it and he glanced down at the red and white lines crossing back and forth on front and seeing nothing special and awkwardly nodding to show he thought so. I turned back in my seat, inwardly swearing and digging my fingers into the edge of my desk so the slivers dug under my nails. I was off my game today. In motion and not sure whether to look ahead or at my feet and unable to accomplish both. The bell rang and I reached under my desk for my bag and pulling out my notebook and flipping to the second blank page of the book and writing the date neatly at the top.
"Mr. Ferguson is ill today," A man with a serious face and jet black hair said, walking in through the doorway and propping his brief case up on his desk. "My name is Cromartie." He scanned the classroom of still half full seats and his eyes lingered on me thoughtfully before moving onto John and so forth. I adjusted myself in my seat, pushing back my chair so my legs were no longer trapped under my desk and instead halfway into the aisle.
"Is that your only name? Like Madonna?" A girl I didn't know asked from several seats behind me and slumped in her chair more casually then I had any longer allowed myself.
"Madonna?" He asked, confused and tossing his jacket to the desk. "Why? No." A couple people laughed and John looked over at me to see if I found it funny but I didn't. My heart rate was getting loud in my chest and the edges of my vision were beginning to blur in the beginnings of unrestrained panic.

"Let's take attendance then," he pulled out a notebook of his own and tossed it to the desk before sitting behind it and becoming half his size when he did. "Mary Booai?"
"Here," the girl who had spoken up earlier said, bronze curls heavy over her shoulders and not an inch of her amused.
"Donald Chase?" He lowered his eyes again to the list and dropped a hand to his side. My fingers were shaking and tapping noiselessly against the desk top.
"Here," Someone else called it from the back of the class but I didn't bother to check.
"Amanda Reid?" His voice got louder as he said it and his head raised as he looked over the classroom, eyes narrowed as he took in each one of us. "Amanda Reid?" John looked over at me, confused and one or two others who knew me by name wondering why I didn't answer.
"Here," my voice came out quiet but he heard it anyway and eyes locked onto me as I answered and an almost red gleam faded in his pupils.
"Reese?" He didn't take his eyes off of me, didn't need to look back down at the page for the next name. "Do we have a John ... Reese?" John raised his hand in confirmation before lowering it and I could feel my heart rate slow into distinct beats, waiting for what was next.
"Excellent," He said and there was a click of metal and without thinking I threw myself from my chair and knocking John to the ground as gunfire exploded over my head and echoed as everyone else started to scream. We hit the ground hard but I only pushed at it and grabbed him by the shirt and forcing him into a run, holding low and behind him to protect his body with mine and jerking behind the lab table and to the desks behind it. The floor was slippery under my boots and desks and chairs were an obstacle course I hadn't memorized but he moved ahead of me as he had doubtless done a hundred times before and glass exploding as Cromartie continued to miss his target. Get to an escape. Get to the parking lot. Get to Cameron. Keep John safe and if possible keep myself alive in the process. One of the back windows loomed in front of me and I dug my fingers into the back of John's shirt and forced him to it, turning at the last minute and slamming my side into the glass and feeling it shatter through the layers of clothing and skin. My stomach dropped from the short fall and I hit the ground hard, a sickening vibration pinning me to it and making my head scream that I hadn't prepared myself for that and even if I had it wouldn't have appreciated it. John was beside me, gasping as he lifted his head and fisted his fingers into the grass to raise him and noticing me still beside him. In shock for a second he didn't recognize me but we didn't have that second and I dragged myself to my feet, my legs burning from the impact, and grabbed him by the shirt and to his own feet.
"Run!" He grabbed my hand and was now pulling me as we ran across the courtyard to the low hanging wall, digging his shoes into the jutted rock and taking me alone with him and my bones seeming to snap and scream at me as I made my way over top and jumping to the other side. I fell to my knees and pushed off of my hands as he landed next to me and we were again running into the parking lot and blood now smeared across my palms. I didn't know how it got there or even if it was from me but I could taste the metallic of it on my tongue which in itself could have just been another injury. We slid in behind a school bus parked some feet from the wall and I fell over and retched onto the gravel, the insides scraping against themselves and every breath hurting so it felt like I was trying to swallow needles.
"Who are you?" John demanded, breathless as I was and I turned to look over my shoulder at him, half perched against the wheel and eyes wild with panic.
"Amanda," I gasped, not the time to explain more and crawling to my feet to check the reflection of the mirror and the glass of it shattering with another bullet as a warning that Cromartie was on our tail.
"Run!" I was off again, John at my side and windows exploding over our heads in showers of glasses and crunching where it fell into my jacket and hair. Run. Don't think. Run. We skidded past the end of the safety of the bus and into the parking lot and ducking to hide behind the smaller cars dotting the parking spots. There was a crunching sound followed by a screech that tore at my ear drums and I slid to a stop behind the trunk of a grey SUV and saw the bus dusted and on its side and Cromartie stepping on top and over it, the sun catching off his cheek and even from here turning it artificial. The illusion may be more comforting but the reality was still there. Cromartie scanned over the parking lot and I lowered my head behind the trunk and tried to breathe shallow to slow my heart rate and stop the needles bleeding in my throat. I needed Cameron. I needed a gun. I needed to keep John safe at all costs and myself if possible in the process. I looked over at him to make sure he was still there and he watched me also, breathing hard and confused like he was trying to figure out who I was and doing it in the compressed amount of time.
"We need to get to Cameron," I said, swallowing hard and tasting metallic now in my throat and where it was growing colder and leeching into my stomach.
"Who's Cameron?" He demanded, breathing still hard and blood dripping off his finger from a cut on the back of the hand. Just as long as it wasn't a bullet wound.
"She's ...," Gunfire cut off my sentence and he grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me off and past the end of the car and down the line of others, my fingers scrambling and pushing off the gravel to keep running and the ends of them becoming numb and bloody. Get a gun. Get to Cameron. Keep John safe and screw it whether I died or not. Glass broke and roared over our heads and I shoved him to the ground where we had somehow gotten to the same pace and shielded myself over top of him, my arms over his head and pressing down on his back. Get to Cameron. Keep John safe. He grunted under my weight and I eased enough off so he could breathe and looked back and forth between the cars and for which one I could hot wire or had a hidden set of keys. There were too many options and each one with time I couldn't afford to waste. Metal squealed against metal and I lifted my head to see Cromartie in front of us, gun raised and no time to run. Keep John safe. Cromartie's head slammed back as a truck suddenly hit him and he disappeared behind the line of other cars as tires protested and metal grinded on metal. The sound stopped and back tracked as the truck backed up and the door screeched open with Cameron at the steering and leaning sideways over the seat.
"Come with me if you want to live," she said, eyes locked on us both and relief hitting me so hard I thought I might cry but resisting the urge and quickly climbing off John so he could make it to the door. He allowed me in first and I scrambled into the center seat as he followed and slammed the door behind him, Cameron starting the car again before it was even properly closed.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asked it more like a fact then a question and I glanced over to where she was still focused on the wheel, only in the event of my imminent death worthy of attention.
"I'm fine," I breathed, knees and hands burning from where they suffered the brunt of my run but my breathing almost back to normal though there was a metallic taste I could now feel in my stomach. I could throw up when we stopped.
"What about John?" Again it was more fact then question and again she didn't look over as she said it, eyes still trained on the steering wheel and the dusted field on either side of the road. I looked over to where he sat next to me, our knees touching and his shirt dotted with blood. He raised his eyes from his arm on the window and stared back at me in panic, still not sure who I really was and rethinking his original thoughts in place of the ones he was having now.
"He's alive," I said shortly. He raised his eyebrows at me, disbelieving that I could grind down okay to simply being alive and not understanding that in the grand scheme of things it was the only thing that mattered.
"He'll live," I adjusted his answer in hopes he would stop looking at me like that and turned to look back out the window, the blue of the sky fading and dirtying when it touched the dusty horizon.
"You should call your mother," Cameron said, fishing into her pocket and holding out the battered cell phone she used to contact me and my own probably still back in the classroom either blown to pieces by gunfire or for the time being untouched. I took it from her and held it out to John who flinched as I did, pinning himself back against the corner and despite what we just went through not willing to let me touch him without cause. I ignored the slight and continued to hold it out to him until he cautiously took it from my fingers and flipped it open to start pressing at the keys. I dropped my now empty hand onto my torn knee and examined the now drying blood on both and the flakes of it fading to a sickly brown.
"You can clean up when we stop," Cameron said pointedly, catching me looking and assuming that that was the problem. I didn't correct her and pulled my sleeve down over my hand to cover it and my knee in one and ignoring the sting that poked needles sickly under my skin.
"Mom? Mom?" John asked into the phone, leaning onto the car window and away from us, his sleeve stretched over his shoulder and the fabric of it torn and looking like it itself had been dipped in red. "Listen to me, okay? They're back. It's back." He paused, listening to what she was saying and the wind rustling through his bangs. They never left, I wanted to tell him but bit my tongue instead. "I'm going to the house ... Mom!" He pulled the phone away from his ear and turned back to us as if surprised to see that we were listening and pointedly hanging up the phone.

I sat on the edge of the seat, resting my chin against the end of the gun and running my fingers along the sides and to the trigger. I felt safer now that it was in my hands but appreciated the irony of how easily it could backfire. All it took was one pull of the trigger and it was blood and brains on the dashboard. John watched me at a safe distance, leaning against the outside of the truck and to its back, arms crossed and visibly inching away as if torn between being afraid of me and hurt that he now knew my "introductions" had ulterior motives.
"Who are you?" He asked again, not afraid enough to not ask but still cautious and glancing at his house where Cameron had just answered and we were told to wait just outside of.
"I told you. I'm Amanda," I flipped the gun onto its side and lay it across my side and away from John so that if it did backfire it would hit the engine instead of him. Get to Cameron. Get a gun. Keep John safe.
"That doesn't answer my question," he said, foot tapping against the other and agitated by his unanswered question and whatever else was going on inside.
"It will," I said flatly, not the time to explain everything in full and not looking forward to when I eventually would have to. In my head it could be rewritten and styled like a joke but out loud – and like Cameron had said it – it was cold and unforgivable and I just wasn't ready yet for that. Gunfire popped and echoed inside the house and John made a violent move to the door that I stopped before he could finish and standing right in front of him, gun still in my hand and the threat there but empty.
"Cameron said to wait out here," I said, edging to the left to block his view and the gun heavy at my side and to my hip.
"That's my mother in there," he said through grinded teeth, barely taller than me and whatever fear of me he had a moment ago hardened and now angry.
"And Cameron said to wait out here," I repeated it through my own teeth, close enough that he couldn't miss it this time and gun now out from my side so he could see it better and hopefully not pick up that it was an empty threat and that I knew it better than he did. He glanced down at it from my side then back up to meet his eyes, hair obscuring their colour and hiding whatever he was possibly thinking.
"If I'm supposed to know who you are then you must know who I am. And that that gun is an empty threat," He shoved past me before he could finish and ran off down the driveway before I could stop him, dust kicked up from his shoes. I stared after him, frozen for a moment and the last few seconds sinking in slower than they should have before following him, half angry that I had let him get past me and the other half in denial that it had been him this time to kick me under my feet. Crashes and gun shots were louder now closer to the house and I snuck up behind John and shoved him down lower so he couldn't be seen by the window and my gun over his head where I could more easily aim it and hopefully not clip him in the process of doing so. A crack of marble broke out through the open doorway and John broke free of my hand and ran for it and without thinking I followed, that three world mantra I had been forced to think – and now live – by drumming itself in my head: Keep John safe. I followed after him as he disappeared through the splintered doorway and into the house just inside, a wall dividing the first two rooms ripped and crumbled onto the floor and a woman turning from behind the wreckage, gun in hand. I aimed my own back at her, finger on the trigger but lowered it as she did as John stumbled over the cracked wall and plaster to join her at her side.
"Next time you do what you're trained to do," she told him harshly, gripping at the front of his shirt as if torn between relief and anger and finding that uneasy middle between the two. "You run. Go!" John obeyed and turned; forced by her hand at her back as I followed at his side and the woman – Sarah – froze for a precious second to stare at me before pushing down any questions and following us both outside. I kept one hand on John's shoulder as he ran ahead of me and turned at the end of the truck to push him to one side and ran over to the drivers. Sarah followed after me and pushed ahead to pull open the door and climb in first, leaning back so I could crawl over her but not giving up her spot at the wheel. No time for arguments I crawled over top of her and to the middle as John slid into the other side and slammed the door shut with a screech of metal that had been forced open and closed too many times. The engine roared and the seat jerked beneath me as Sarah pulled out of the driveway and kicking up the dust behind us so everything faded and blurred and I struggled with my seat belt least I fall into John mid turn and make things even more uncomfortable then they already were. The tires screeched in the dirt and I turned back to look over my shoulder for either Cromartie or Cameron – whichever one won out – and gun still tightened in my fingers in preparation for the wrong one. Something running took shape in the dirt and became thinner and more feminine as it came closer and leapt onto the back with a shudder that made both John and Sarah jump and turn despite the driving hazard. She stared at me for a moment, making sure that I knew it was her, before climbing around to the side of John's door and pulling it out mid turn and getting in beside him so that the four of us were crushed together in the front seat and John's knee pressed hotly into mine and I bit my lip to keep from crying out as his jean jerked against my torn flesh.
"Did you stop him?" Sarah asked, breathless and glancing back and forth from Cameron to the road and somehow managing to keep her attention on both.
"120 seconds and the system reboots," She said flatly, the road blurring out behind her and making it hard to keep eye contact. "I was here to protect John and his ..."
"Not now. Not yet," Sarah cut her off, eyes back to the road and gripping the wheel so that her knuckles were turning white. Cameron took the hint and settled back against the door and somehow managed to stay upright when Sarah turned sharply on a corner and threw the rest of us against each other and tearing my knee open again and making it bleed anew.

I flinched as Cameron dapped the disinfectant against my knee and coldly holding her hand underneath my leg to hold it upright and still as the sting touched again and I dug my fingers into the stacked boards I was sitting on.
"You have to remain still," she said simply, pulling away the gauze she had dipped it in and leaving stains of blood on the cotton. I bit the inside of my lip as she worked her away around the torn skin and over the crusted blood that wasn't as dry now that the hectic drive had cut it open several more times. "You don't want to get infected." I resisted the urge to tell her to fuck off or the like and instead looked over at the fire burning in the trash can between Cameron and me and Sarah and watching the orange and red flames char at the already rusted metal. Sarah was watching me, leaning over her arms balanced on her knees and gaze thoughtful as she took me in with more time and patience then John did and assessing each detail as it occurred to her.
"Who are you?" She asked, voice low and interrupted under by the sound of the crackling flames.
"My name is Cameron," she said, setting down the bottle and unwinding a roll of bandages and measuring the distance it would have to take around my knee. "I was sent here to protect ..."
"Not you. Her," Sarah jerked her chin at me and settled her gaze so this time we knew which she was referring to and that she wouldn't lower it until the question she asked was answered.
"My name is Amanda," I said, going to the default answer I was trained to answer by and leaving it at that so no more questions were encouraged and the circumstance of my safety not decreased with each one.
"Yeah I got that," Sarah answered, smirking so that we knew she knew the trick we'd practiced at and wasn't amused that it has been used on her. "I mean whoare you? What's your place in all of this?"
"Amanda Jaclyn Reid. Born August 7th, 1984," Cameron began, listing the details as she wrapped the bandage around the knee and ignoring my flinch as it touched on the ripped skin. "More commonly known by history as Amanda Connor. Wife of John Conner, mother to his children and future joint leader of the Resistance." The fire crackled in the silence that followed and I watched the shadows shudder over the dirt as it did, making it darker and light as it changed its mind and curled back into the can. There. It was said.
"Connor? Amanda ... Connor?" Sarah tried out the words as I had to myself a hundred times and finding no more grip on them then I had even though it was supposed to be my name. Pain tightened on my knee and I cried out as Cameron pinned the edges of the bandage together and turned away with her work done to gather up the medicine and remaining inches of bandage.
"Yes. Amanda Connor. Born August 7th ..., " Cameron began to repeat, not understanding the question and falling back into default mode that she sometimes did whenever she thought I forgot the words and following up with the three that I knew better then my own name and had grown more comfortable with the purpose of: Keep John safe.
"No, I got that," Sarah quickly said, stopping her and turning her attention back towards me and taking me in with a different eyes then she had a moment ago and making me uncomfortable that she was looking at me at all. Though I guess technically she was my mother –in – law and if stereotype was to be believed it was expected of her.
"Hi," I said quietly, interrupting her stare and waving sarcastically to lighten the mood and her narrowed eyes telling me what she thought of that.
"I was sent back here to protect her and John," Cameron continued, cleaning up the bloody gauze and walking over to the can and letting them fall into the flames and crackle as they burned. "Sent from the year 2027 on orders from John himself."
"If she exists then why has no one been sent to protect her before?" Sarah asked, tearing her gaze from me and looking up to where Cameron stood, her head turned and the light burning its way along her cheek and playing orange and yellow up the lines. "Why now?"
"Her identity was kept hidden to protect her. No one knew who she was or what her name was before she took Connor," Cameron explained, ignoring that it was me that she was talking about and that I was in the room and could answer for myself. I had been told it a hundred times before – amongst everything else that had been said and drilled to remember it so I knew my purpose and knew that it was no longer mine to make. "There was a breach and Skynet discovered her identity and sent machines back to look for her and kill her before she and John met. I've been protecting her ever since."
"How long?" Sarah asked, standing and coming around the can to stand next to her, half of her in shadow and the other half too bright to look at directly and making me drop my eyes to my knee and uneasily roll my jean back over it. Not like they were going to address their questions about me to me anyway.
"73 days. I found Amanda after twelve. She was much easier to locate," They both turned to look at me and I ignored it to return the favor and continued to unroll my jean until it reached my ankle and cupped the bone between my hands.
"How much do you know?" Sarah asked and after two seconds quiet I looked up to see her staring down at me, no sentiment in her eyes upon learning I was her future daughter in law and calculating how much of a burden I would be if I failed to protect myself.
"Enough," I said, meeting her eyes and returning the cold stare of them. Everything. Skynet, the machines, the future, my part in it and how everything else was depended on that I played it and played it well. Seemingly a lot of pressure for a fifteen year old to take on but I had been drilled on it and I wasn't going to be considered a burden to that circumstance.
"Your fiancé went to the police," Cameron said, interrupting the moment and Sarah losing her focus on me with the words and returning it to Cameron. "You should have changed your aliases."
"Go to Hell," Sarah said between her teeth, stepping closer to Cameron and the threat empty of anything that could actually hurt her but steady all the same.
"They'd have found you anyway. They always do," Cameron said, almost reassuringly as she stared back at her and not taking the step closer as a threat but simply a movement that people sometimes made. She turned to look at me, the turn and the firelight illuminating the tear in her shirt and the metal welded and pieced together underneath. "You should get some sleep." I swallowed and nodded, still tasting the metallic in my stomach but not turning away as I gathered my jacket and folded it more comfortably and into the substitute of a pillow before lying back onto it. There was no illusion. Just a reality others were too willing to ignore and the one that I had been promised to never forget.

Metal screeched against metal and I cringed as Cameron pulled the front bars off of the dusted trunk and turning to casually toss it to the side, either oblivious to the sound of it or not bothered that it had one. She turned back and popped the front to look inside and I leaned back against the center pole holding up the ceiling and running my fingers over the hardened cloth over my knee, faint blood stained through and almost making a pattern if I was morbid enough to focus on it long enough. Sarah stepped up to the driver seat door and pulled it open to where John sat behind the wheel and staring down at his hands that were presumably folded in front of me. Neither of them had talked to me yet and I couldn't be bothered enough to mind – not when most of my company for the last few months had been Cameron and it was almost as close as solitude when she spent her days silent but for her speeches of my fate and suggestions at random times that I either needed to sleep or eat. I exhaled deeply so my cheeks puffed and sagged lower against the post and staring down at my hands with their nails chipped and blood crusted underneath that I didn't have the time or patience to wash out. They'd get dirty again and I'd be back where I started trying again to make them clean and ignoring the futility of it like having clean hands could be symbolic and not be bleeding for a cause that up until three months ago I didn't know existed and now ultimately I would die for. Most people would find that unfair but I had reached the point where it almost hadn't fazed me anymore and it was just another set of words to repeat to myself day in and day out and that if I said them enough they'd stop sounding stupid and actually make sense. Skynet. Machines. The future. Amanda Connor. Keep John safe. Just words. No meaning just something else to help make it through the day. The front of the truck slammed down and I lifted my head as Cameron turned to look at me, that same tear covered up by the pink shirt that had once been mine but with blood now covering the elbows and hem.
"You ready?" She asked, head turned quizzically and trying to guess whether I was alright or not. No.
"Yes."

I tapped my feet against the concrete passing off as the gas station drive and shifted back against the bumper so I could sit on it more easily the metal of it making it a challenge. A man in a trucker's hat and faded jeans was staring at me from his own truck and grinned when I looked his way, lifting his cap as a "hello" that I didn't return and only looked away and back to my boots still restless on the ground. Probably I thought I was older then I was and that even if I wasn't it wouldn't bother him too much.
"Chip?" John asked and I squinted up at him standing next to me and his opened bag of chips held out to me with his offer to take one and a hesitant smile crossed on his lips. I took one from the crinkled bag and started to chew on it, the saltiness of it biting at the cuts on my tongue but eating it nonetheless.
"Can I sit?" He asked, looking around at the empty space between us and the gas bumps and seeing the spot next to me as the only option to ask to. I slid further to the right to accommodate him and he took it, carefully sitting on the edge of it and digging in his shoes enough to prevent him from falling off. I ate the rest of my chip and dusted the salt grains off of my fingers as he held out the bag to offer me another one and this time I took two.
"My mom told me," He blurted out as I started on the chips I had just taken and tumbling the words out like he had wanted to say them so urgently that he hadn't quite figured out how to do so properly. I turned the tip of my boot back and forth in the cement and wearing down the fabric more than I did the ground.
"Oh?" I asked, not sure what else to say and nothing decent coming to mind of what might substitute as at least comfortable. Not that there was any of those either.
"Yeah," he said, looking down at the half empty bag and properly regretting that he had offered me some in the first place. I chewed my last one slowly, savouring it so I wouldn't have to ask for another but he offered me one anyway when I was finished and when he did I took three.
"So I guess that's why you came up to me ... at school," he said, the obvious heart of the problem and the teenage boy hurt that a girl had paid attention to him but had only done so for an ulterior motive. I chewed on the chip to prolong the moment and the answer that we both know I'd say before I needed to say it.
"Yeah," I ate another chip and leaned back and shifted more comfortably and turning the last one between my fingers and the salt coming off on my fingers. Kind of ironic if I spent the rest of my life fighting from machines with guns and that it was a heart attack that brought me down.
"It's alright. I get it. Pretty girls don't come up to guys like me unless they're married in the future and one has to make the introductions," he laughed bitterly on the words and passed the chip bag back and forth between his hands and didn't offer me another one when I finished the one I had.
"I don't think that's how it usually goes ...," I attempted, wiping the last of the salt on jeans and avoiding my knee as I did and wondering if I could take another chip before he noticed. He snorted sarcastically but held the bag to me again and this time I satisfied myself with two.
"So ... Amanda. Is that your real name?" He asked, turning his head and his hair back in his eyes and hiding their colour so again it was a question of green or hazel.
"Yes," I said simply, not sure where he was going to the question and unaware how to make it easier for him to get there. Startled that I didn't know he blinked and awkwardly turned to stare back out at the gas station.
"Is that like your full name or do you have a nickname? What do your friends call you?" He wondered, watching his mom through the store window and her gaze turning every few minutes to meet his and making sure that he was still there. Probably didn't notice or care that I was also sitting beside.
"I don't have any friends," I said more fact then answer and eating the last chip and crunching on it quietly so he didn't notice and offer me another one. He laughed shortly, looking down at his feet and offering me another anyway.
"What's so funny?" I asked, more curious then hurt as I this time I took four.
"Nothing just ...," he looked up and his hair this time fell away from his eyes and leaving them warm with the remains of his laugh. Hazel. Depending on the light. "I don't have any either." He laughed again, crumbling the empty bag in his hands and aiming it at the garbage can and missing so it unrolled and settled next to the bottom. I let what we both said sink in and let myself grin as well, the stupid honesty of it endearing and making me laugh at how tragically it made sense that we – the two loneliest people – were by some chance destined to end up together. The laugh started to hurt and I cough but continued anyway more likely than not delirious from not honestly doing it in so long and startled by how good it felt.
"What's so funny?" Sarah asked, suddenly in front of us and her arms folded across her chest and her own look unamused and glancing between the two of us like we were guilty of something and waiting out on one of us to rat out the other. Probably wanting it to be him who was the one to throw me under the bus.
"Nothing," John shrugged off, still laughing and standing to walk over to the chip bag caught on the corner of the can and standing up to throw it properly in the trash. "Nothing." Sarah turned to look at me with her eyebrows raised and suspicious and I popped my last chip in my mouth I crunched on it loudly to bother her as she seemed to understand that purpose and stepping back, unsure of what to make of me.
"Let's go," Cameron said, next to the driver's seat door and hand ready on the handle. I stood up from where I was sitting and tried not to limp as I walked over to the passenger side, my knee seizing up from the awkward position I held it in and John waiting on my side and holding the door open for me so that I could more easily climb in.

The door bell rang through the house and Sarah stepped back from pressing it and tucking her fingers into the cuffs of her jacket as if this was what made her apprehensive even after what we'd been through in the days that I'd known her so far. A shape blurred through the rippled glass and the door opened to reveal a boy about eight or ten with headphones around his neck and touching them together at is collar. He froze when he saw us and nervously glanced over his shoulder at the room behind him.
"Mom?" He asked, not looking at us again directly and watching as a woman entered beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders before turning to see us and freezing as well.
"You," she said, the word rasped between her teeth and terrified and accusatory all at once. Me I was tempted to answer.
"We need to talk about Miles, Tarissa," Sarah said, stepping in without an invitation and leaving the rest of us outside waiting for one ourselves.
"Danny, go to your room," the woman –Tarissa – said to her son and rubbing her hand nervously back and forth over his shoulders. "Right now." He nodded and left, continuing to stare at her as he walked away and disappeared down the hall and Tarissa turning towards Sarah and her face suddenly lined angrily. "How are you come here."
"I know what they told you but it didn't happen that way," Sarah said, half pleading and half firm, uneasy on her feet and shifting her weight back and forth between them.
"Get the hell out of here," Tarissa demanded, moving her attention to the rest of us and over each one in turn. "Now!"
"It didn't happen that way," Sarah said, no angry and forcing it from between her teeth. Tarissa ignored it and pointedly walked away from the door and into the room she entered from and leaving the door open as she did. Sarah quickly followed after her and I took the opportunity to walk in after, seeing it as good as any as an invitation to enter. They were in the kitchen and Sarah had Tarissa by the arm, holding her close so she wouldn't miss anything and her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I didn't kill Miles. Alright, I didn't do it," Sarah insisted, the arm that was holding Tarissa's shaking as she visibly swallowed and looked as if she were unsteady. "I would never. Miles was a hero."
"Then why are you here," Tarissa asked, calmer now and her voice quieter as Sarah loosened her grip on her arm and allowed her to have it back.
"We're back," Cameron interrupted and they both turned to remember we were there and the pupils of Cameron's eyes turning an artificial blue and fading as the point was made. Tarissa pulled away from us and her heels clicked on the tile as she clutched her head and looking more exhausted then scared.
"You told me there'd be no more machines," she breathed, dropping her arms from her face and her shoulders sagging. Cameron swept her eyes over me and John – John's hands in his pockets and bulging in the jeans that despite fitting better still weren't his size – and wandered off and down the hall, her footsteps almost inaudible.
"Look, it's happening again," Sarah said, the time for pleasantries over and following Tarissa into the living room where she had sat on the arm of a chair and stared at the glass top of the table and her reflected misshapen and staring back at her. "Everything we fought to stop. Miles' work at Cyberdyne is the only link we have. Is there anyone, anywhere who's shown an interest in his work? Anyone he could've told? Someone he forgot?"
"There's nobody. It's all gone," Tarissa answered, voice on the edge of emotional and her eyes pleading that one or all of us were lying and just waiting for the punch line. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot and glanced back at the hall behind us to where Cameron was gone. I remembered that denial of it and seeing it in someone else still made me uncomfortable. "You destroyed it all. You and Miles destroyed ... you destroyed everything." Sarah swallowed hard and stepped back with the accusation, the anger I had seen in her the last few days whittled down and now somehow making her seem sadder then had she had never had it. Footsteps sharply echoed behind me and I quickly turned, stepping as I did and to the side so that I was behind John and almost on his back and Cameron quickly stepping into the room.
"We have to go," she said, voice unnaturally calm despite the urgent words. "Now." She retreated back where she came and I turned to look past the angle of the wall to the window and not seeing anything in the dark driveway but something more ominous about it that I couldn't see it.
"Help me," Sarah pleaded and I turned to look over my shoulder as she spoke to Tarissa who had tears in her eyes and her lips trembling on words she didn't want to say but wanted to say all the same. "Help my son."

The wood of the garage door splintered as the back of the SUV rammed into it and I jolted in my seat with the hit and gripped my fingers into my seat and the one ahead of me so I wouldn't crash onto the floor but the struggle there anyway. Metal cracked as the back end of it hit Cromartie and I could see his silhouette awkwardly roll and the gun at his hand roll with him. Tires squealed and painted the driveway in black lines as I turned back over my shoulder to see him standing up from where he crashed into the shrubbery and gun back in his hand. Gunfire popped and echoed in my ears and the back window shattered as I grabbed John by the shoulders and shoved him to the ground next to me and shielding him with both my body and the two seats behind us. Sarah cried out and blood splattered onto my face and over my lips as she struggled to right herself over the wheel, the sleeve of her shirt blossoming red and her fingers shaking on the steering wheel.
"Mom!" John cried but I pinned him with my elbow beneath me and held him there so he couldn't move, the SUV turning wildly on a corner and nearly dislodging us into the wall. Keep John safe. Keep John safe. Cameron turned around in the front seat, face calm and a trigger in her hands that she pressed with a short beep and an explosion of sound and light cutting off my senses for a panicked moment as the Truck we'd driven here in exploded in flames and rusted metal that kicked against the wheels of the SUV and jolting us so my heart pounded and my stomach felt sick. Keep John safe. Keep John safe. Throw up when we stopped but keep John safe. Not hearing my thoughts he took my distraction and pushed out from under me and to the driver seat and pressing his hands over Sarah's shoulder as she gritted her teeth and grunted in pain between them.
"Oh God," he was saying, blood dripping down from his hands where I could see and staining the cuffs of his shirt.
The SUV spun into the parking lot and I – for the hopefully last time – hit my back against the seat as it did and feeling my knee cut open again despite the layers of bandages. We swerved and stopped and I rammed into the front seat and clutched the metal holding it in place and the edges running raw on my palms. I missed my days that weren't defined by the number of injures I suffered.
"Bandages, rubbing alcohol," Sarah said, her teeth gritted by pain and in the mirror sweat slick on her forehead and blood staining John's hands.
"You need a doctor," John insisted, pressing against the remains of the bandages that we had used and the white soaked through with red.
"Go!" Sarah insisted, the edge lost on the pain but the order clear without it. "We'll find cover out back." John pulled away from holding her, his hands stained and shaking as I leaned over and pulled the door open for him and stepping out as he did, my leg giving in pain briefly before I managed to stand and slam the door shut behind me. John quickly jogged for the convenience store and I followed after him, Chinese words stenciled into the windows and filtering the lights through them. The fluorescent light inside made my eyes water and the man behind the desk looked up in boredom as he walked in but his eyes widening as he saw the blood on his hands and my knee.
"We need to clean up," I said, wrapping my fingers around his wrist and forcing it down and to the side so at least one of them was hidden and less noticeable to the curious clerk.
"We need to get bandages and rubbing alcohol," John insisted, not hearing me and desperately looking over the shelves that held everything from candy to condoms and no set system as to where which was which.
"Cameron's with her. You need to clean up," I didn't wait for him to answer and forced him into step to the back past the clerk who had stood up to watch us go and trying to act as natural as possible when my head was still hurting from the erratic driving and the pain in my knee was still making me feel sick. A unisex bathroom symbol was stamped on a door to the back and I jiggled the handle as it open and leaving smears of blood on the curve of it before slamming the door shut behind me. John stumbled into the room and I switched on the light at the door which flickered and hummed as it barely came on and illuminating the two piece bathroom that was in desperate need of a wash.
"We need ...," he tried to say, pushing past me to the door but I held him back, gripping him at the elbows and forcing him still so that he could look at me and feel him trembling.
"She's with Cameron," I repeated, slower this time so he couldn't even lie and say he didn't hear me. "You can't go anywhere with blood on your hands or they're going to call the police. You need to wash up." His eyes swept back and forth over me before he licked his lips to wet them and stopped resisting against my hands. I limped over to the sink and barely glanced at myself in the pitted reflection before grabbing paper towel by the handful from the tin dispenser and wetting it with the frigid water. John was pacing behind me and trying not to touch anything with his hands, now all too aware that they were bloody.
"Here," I said, reaching for him and starting to scrub with the cheap brown paper towel that they used in restaurants and convenience stores and little slivers of it curling and come off much easier then the blood was.
"I got it," he protested quietly and separated half the stack so we both had some and scrubbing them into his palms as they stubbornly faded from red to pink. I watched him as he did, turning the damp papers between my hands and my knee trembling under the weight of him. His hair had fallen over his eyes and his hands had stop shaking but he seemed quiet and I could see it in the way he stooped over his work and looking like if he made himself any smaller he could disappear or wake up and all of this would be a dream.
"You okay?" I asked, a stupid question but concern making me ask it all the same. He laughed bitterly, the sound fighting with the touch of warmth on his lips.
"I'll live," he said, mirroring my words from the truck yesterday and making me laugh as well. It didn't come out as loud or painful as at the gas station but quieter and softer like if you curled up far enough in it you could fall asleep and be safe. That was a lie though. When you slept you let your guard down and that's when it was more likely that you would die.
"How's your knee?" He nodded at it as he worked his palms now almost finally clean and tossing the peeling papers into the trash. I glanced down at it and saw the blood leaking through the bandages and the burn of it making my whole leg feeling like it was crumbling.
"Hurts like Hell," I admitted and eased back onto the thankfully closed toilet seat and wincing as I stretched it out. He walked over and knelt in front of me despite the dirtied floor and turned my knee back and forth between his hands, gentle as he did so and his brow furrowed as he examined it.
"May I?" He asked and lifting his eyes to mine. I nodded, not knowing what he was asking exactly and let him start to roll up my jean and carefully pull it over my knee where I had ripped through the fabric and left the wound more open to the elements. He undid the clip that Cameron had made and started to unravel it, pins and needles slipping under my skin as the pressure released and the last layer sticking with blood as I gritted my teeth and dug my nails into the bar they set up by the side of the toilet for those who needed help up. He sucked in his breath as the air hit it and the blood made it harder to see where the actual wound was.
"Looks like you tore a couple of layers," he said, turning himself instead of my knee to check for sure and tenderly pressing his fingers along my calf at the muscle to see if they reacted. I nodded, teeth still gritted and wishing there was a way to stitch it up and get it over with but the cuts too far over the place to most likely make that easy.
"Wait here," he said, pulling himself to his feet and to the door before I could say anything or even think to make him stop. Too late I opened my mouth as he left but the door already closed, shutting off what I was going to say and embarrassing if I said it to an empty room. I sighed and leaned against the toilet back and let myself relax for just a moment though I knew I should probably run after him and make sure he somehow didn't get shot between the bubblegum and magazines. I let my eyes crawl over the walls written with various crude messages against the sickly green and finally to the mirror opposite me and the reflection I was having trouble recognizing staring back at me. I didn't see a woman or a wife and mother or least of all someone that millions would follow and thousands would die for. I saw a child. I saw a girl who could maybe pass for a year older then she was but anymore then that a laughable stretch. I saw lanky hair and non descript eyes and lips that were more often than not gritted in pain or holding back tears then smiling or saying something confident and friendly. I saw clothes that didn't fit and never would and hands that had been bloody so often that the poor excuse for a girl had long grown tired of ever getting clean. I saw details but I didn't see a person and I waved at them to see if it helped but it didn't and I let my hand drop and my leg stretch out easier so I could see the blood in the mirror and thus convince myself to look away.

The door opened and I straightened as John hurried back in and closed it carefully behind me and pulled a roll of bandages and a brown bottle from under his jacket. He unwrapped the plastic around the bandages and knelt beside me, bottle on the ground and beside his other knee.
"Here we go," he said, easing my leg up onto his lap and handing me the roll so that he would open up the bottle and remove the plastic underneath.
"How'd you pay for these?" I asked, taking the hint that he probably hadn't but needing to say something nonetheless.
"I didn't," he said with an embarrassed smirk and lifting my leg so that it was level with his chest and the cuts of my knee creasing together and making me suck in my breath. He smiled apologetically and with his other hand lifted up the bottle and held it close to my skin so that without saying it I knew what it was for and as a split second warning before he tipped it and the clear liquid poured on. My skin seemed to melt and burn and I bit my lip hard so I tasted blood and gripped the bar under my fingertips where I could feel it growing clammy from the sweat of my palms. Seeing my reaction he quickly lower the bottle and my leg but the pain was still there and it made the room seem to dim and grow smaller around me though it didn't seem the ideal place to suddenly pass out.
"Sorry, sorry," he murmured, taking the bandages from my lap and unrolling them before pressing one end to the inside of my knee and starting to wrap it around and soaking through the blood and rubbing alcohol. I tipped my head back and stared at the flickering light above me and watched it until it blurred and lowered it again as the room pulsed and I worked on blinking it back to focus rather than the burning that taking my leg down layer by layer. He finished wrapping it around and tucked the end into the folds and pressed his hands to each side – avoiding the wound itself – so no bubbles popped under the cloth and that the pressure held.
"You alright?" He asked as he finished, leaning back on his knees and eyes raised to mine in case I actually did pass out. I turned my leg to look at both sides, the effort worse off than Cameron's but more tender where as she had just cleaned and wrapped it because she had to and made it a duty instead of a favour.
"I'll live," I said, wanting him to laugh at it which he obliged me to and the two of us quietly laughing at the bad joke in the dirtied bathroom in the flickered light with blood both ours and not staining both hands.

I raised my head from the back of the seat and squinted at the light too bright for my eyes and something flimsy but nonetheless warm falling off my shoulders. Movement moved from beside me and I looked over to see John sitting just outside the car and standing as I woke up, his plaid shirt gone and it being the thing that had fallen off of me when I moved. He smiled shyly as he saw I was awake and moved to the door and leaning on the window of it and top of it block half of his forehead.
"Morning," he said softly, his voice quiet and out of place from where my head and knee ached and I could taste film on my tongue I'd grown used to from sleeping too little and in places not meant for sleeping.
"Morning," I grunted, stiffly rising and picking up the shirt from it had fallen across the seat next to me and holding it back out to him. "Thanks." He stepped back to take it and draped it over his own shoulders again and tucking down the collar so that it didn't rise up and obscure his throat.
"What time is it?" I asked, looking around and still having to squint at the light streaming in through the broken windows of the garage.
"7:52," Sarah said from where I couldn't see her and I looked through the windshield to see her standing in front of the SUV, arms crossed and a blood stained bandage wrapped over her left shoulder. "How are you feeling?" It was less courtesy then wanting to know if I would drop dead without warning and I answered it as it had been asked.
"Better then you look," I said, straightening myself and grunting as my legs started to wake up and the pins and needles returned under my skin. Sarah bit her lip at the insult but ignored it, shrugging on her jacket to fill the silence and John smirking despite himself.
"You're awake," Cameron said, at John's side and her eyes curious though common sense reminded me she couldn't express that and it was probably just me just not yet fully awake.
"Yeah," I answered, swinging my legs through the open door and embarrassed that they had all probably been waiting for me to wake up and that I had prolonged that longer then was necessary.
"Good," she said, barely nodding her head to confirm that she thought so. "We need to go."
"Where?" I asked, hoping that she meant breakfast but knowing better then to actually think so.
"I'll show you," Cameron said quietly and barely smiled the look almost natural looking though again I knew better.

I slammed the car door shut behind me and followed as Cameron purposefully walked to the bank, arms solid at her sides and her strides too long for me to catch up and my attempts leaving me hobbling behind her.
"So, do you have, like, an account here?" John asked, squinting up at the gold letters printed across the front and facade behind it too complicated to be belonging to a bank.
"Safety deposit box," Cameron answered, not slowing her pace or waiting for me or anyone else to catch up.
"When'd you open that?" Sarah asked, able to meet her pace but leaving me and John behind in our attempts – though in all honesty I think John stuck back behind so that I wouldn't feel left
out.
"1963," Cameron answered simply as if the thirty-six year gap was no big deal and easily overlooked. Though I guess when you were a machine from the future it probably was. She pulled open the door in front of her and we took turns holding it as we walked through, the bank loosely crowded with those waiting in line and a single security guard just inside the entrance with his back to us and his arms crossed. Cameron walked over and without warning slipped the gun out from the holster at his waist and kneed him hard in the back so that with a grunt he hit the ground and stayed where he landed.
"Everybody on the floor," she called, gun held out threateningly and scanning it over the crowd as in twos and threes they realised what was happening and with screams knelt onto the ground and covered their heads. "Please." She stepped over where the guard still lay and to the front counter, arm still perfectly raised with the gun in her hand and the threat of it still poignant as the people still whimpered and crouched, not one of them wanting to volunteer "hero." A blond woman in her early twenties stood behind the bank desk and trembled as Cameron approached and aiming her gun to the middle of her chest so that she knew that she was now the one at risk.
"Keys to the safety deposit box," she said calmly but clicking the trigger as the woman hesitated.

The keys in the ornate gate clicked as she unlocked them and stepped through after, high heels loud on the tiled floor and trembling as she stepped back to let us in. The walls were a wash of mahogany and gold, too formal for a bank in my opinion but despite my opinion staying standing.
"Get inside," Cameron ordered, gun now lowered and turning to the woman with her hand outstretched. "Keys." I walked by them both and after John who stepped into the vault and the view of hundreds of safety deposit boxes carved into the walls and minimal space between them so that there was room to fit them all. Cameron turned at the doorway where the woman still stood outside and trembled where she stood her eyes wide and lips pursued as despite herself she was curious to what we'd do next.
"Lock us in, and then get away from the door," Cameron ordered, meeting her eyes and the gun at her side but the weight of it still heavy. "I'll know if you don't." The woman nodded and stepped back behind the door as it started to swing close and the weight of it snapping shut into the locks and the glass insides reflecting us back where we stood. I glanced around at the boxes behind me and met John's eyes, the look of them asking what I was thinking of what we do next.
"You said you had a safety deposit box?" Sarah asked, confused but more in control in voicing it then John and I were in thinking it. Cameron turned from the doorway, eyebrows raised that she had to repeat the question.
"I do," she insisted and stepping back from the glass and around the corner to where the room stretched larger then I realized. I followed after her, my knee protesting and ignoring it as somewhere in the back of my mind I sarcastically wondered if this would be my one chance to develop claustrophobia. Nothing I could do about it if I suddenly did ... Cameron scanned along the walls – which for her was literally scanning – and stepped up to one that was as nondescript as the rest and easily punching her hand through the door so it popped out and clattered on the tile and sliding out a handful of keys that crackled in her hands.
"Open these boxes," she said, tossing us each a handful and I caught mine uneasily in my hands and turning them over and seeing no differences between them except for the numbers printed on each handle. "Put everything you find on the table. Carefully." That was comforting. I glanced down at numbers as saw each one started with a three and navigated around the room until I found the wall each with threes on the front and sorting out where each one went. The doors of each were slick and polished and I allowed myself a moment to wonder what was in each one and what the people were like who did own them and what they did that allowed them to be able to afford them in the first place. And of course the thought that came next of whether or not they would make it to Judgment day – and whether or not what they did that allowed them these boxes was enough to see that they lived through it. I unlocked my first door and pulled out a complicated set of metal intertwined with splashes of red in between and rather than examine it every inch like I wanted to I carefully walked over to the middle table and set it on top before walking back to the others.

"Is that from the future?" John asked as Cameron opened the last of her boxes and held out a tiny glass cylinder with something moving inside and delicately walked back to the table with her eyes trained on it between her fingers and focused as if she weren't careful then it would go off. Which wouldn't surprise me. Probably kill me ... but wouldn't surprise me.
"You can't bring anything through with you when you come," she said, answering and ignoring his question as she set the cylinder on the table and began to work at putting the pieces together with it being the one to slide into something that looked somewhat like a rusted stable gun. "Not weapons, not clothing. Nothing. You send someone back to build it." She lifted it to eye level and peered at it curiously, lost in whatever thought she was capable of having and turning a switch on the side so that the cylinder inside it lit up and started to glow.
"What is it?" John asked, curious as it began to whir almost comfortably despite the radioactive glow.
"Hope," Cameron said quietly, hushed at the word and twisting my stomach at how empty it sounded out loud. There was no hope. Just moments to look forward to before the bad ones came by and paled them in comparison. Sarah turned her head to look at it better and raised her eyes as she did something comforting about the fact that she was sceptical as I was. Distantly was the sound of glass shattering and I turned to look past the curved wall at the door and the sight of it not a comfort when I thought of what could easily bring it down.
"Is that the police?" John asked, walking around the corner and peering at the door which might be giving him more comfort then it was me, his keys still in his hand and dangling at his side.
"No," Cameron confirmed, bowed over the table and putting the pieces on it together. "Get away from the door."
"Why?' John asked, confused as a heavy thud hit it and shattered the glass inside it, shaking the room and causing my heart rate to spike and the once large room suddenly become close and making it feel like I couldn't breathe.
"That's why," Cameron said calmly as John stumbled back from where he stood and pressed himself against the wall, breathing hard and resisting the urge to look around again. I swallowed hard and choked on it as I walked around to the other side of the table and as habit had taught looking for exits but the only one available the one with the broken glass and machine on the other side pounding to get in. Cracks and more thuds echoed on the other side and the room shuddered with each one and I wish I knew how the pieces on the table worked so I could keep my hands busy but nothing to do but wait and watch as Cameron continued as if not fazed by our imminent death.
"That better be what I think it is," Sarah said, nodding at the gun like device now finished in Cameron's hands and the radioactive glow still whirring somewhere in the middle.
"One of our engineers," Cameron said, stepping closer before tossing it into Sarah's hands where she caught it and turning back to the table. "Took him eight years to scavenge the parts. When the isotope solution turns red, then fire."
"Isotope?" Sarah repeated as the whirring got louder and I could feel it echoing inside my head and interrupted by the cracks and thuds outside so I could feel my heart rate beginning to climb and slowly but surely driving me insane. "Is this nuclear?"
"No, not really," Cameron shrugged as she turned back to the boxes and I slid down the wall to the floor and dropped my head between my legs and tried to breathe but all I could taste was that same metallic and the promise more than a threat that I was about to be sick.
"I still don't see why you locked us in here," John said, asking the question of the moment and no less panicked then I was though at the moment handling it better. "We didn't have to get trapped like rats."
"We're not trapped," Cameron insisted, another shudder rocking the room and my breathing coming in heavy so I was suffocating and no one else seemed to notice.
"What is that?" Sarah asked and I lifted my head to see a larger set of doors on the wall opening and various panels and switches turned on in each one and rolling out on the base of the boxes and clicking as they fully opened.
"The engineer got a job building the vault so we'd always have a way back home," Cameron explained, white letters scrawling across the blue background of one of the screens and hopefully saying something helpful. She clicked several keys on the board and I slowly pressed myself back up the wall to stand and the ground unsteady beneath my feet as the room gave another shudder.
"What have you done?" Sarah demanded, turning back from the door and the device still clutched in her hands and the isotope whirring faster.
"You want to find Skynet?" Cameron asked, facing her and steady as the room trembled almost continuously now and her face determined as she stared Sarah down. "You want to stop Skynet? This is the way."
"You don't know who builds it," Sarah yelled over the noise and I walked over to where John stood and standing at his side as he glanced over at me and silently asking if I was okay. I nodded and he tried to smile but another violent shake cut the attempt short.
"No, but we know where and we know when," Cameron continued, the screen behind her counting up numbers and flashing dates in white. "We can kill it before it's born. You can stop running. Stay in one place. Fight." Another crash sounded outside the door and I swallowed the taste I'd grown almost comfortable with on my tongue and stood straighter, my heart still pounding but thoughts settling as I heard her words repeating themselves in my head in place of the old ones I'd memorized. Keep John safe. Fight. Survive. Win. My feet were shaking but my hands were steady and the screen beeped as the date "2007" flashed and remained on the screen with the bright red word beside it: enabled. 2007. Eight years from now. Four years before judgement day. Another crash and bullets suddenly ricocheted against the walls and in habit I pinned John against the wall and stood protectively in front of him, the lights shorting out so everything glowed copper before the emergency lights kicked on and bathed everything in blue. Thuds hit the door rhythmically and I eased back from where I was still blocking John and he fell to the floor and crawled over to where Sarah knelt, device still whirring between her hands.
"Mom, we've gotta go now!" He called to her as her eyes flickered between him and the door and adjusting the weapon carefully in her hands. "Mom!" The sound of metal ripping from metal screeched through my ears and I cringed at the sound but otherwise calm as someone usually was before either dying or taking that final attempt at survival.
"Do it!" Sarah yelled, the cylinder burning red and Cameron turned to the screen and pressed something that pulsed for a second before lighting crackled from the ceiling and crawled up and down the metal walls with slivers of light reaching out as if to touch us. She marched pointedly towards the center of it and I took a breath a followed, the lines of lightning sharply blue and following in front and behind me as Cromartie stepped through the peeled remains of the door looking worse for wear, metal visible beneath his synthetic skin. No illusion there. John trembled as he ran up beside me and Sarah on my other side as she set off the weapon and a thick bolt went off from the end and hit Cromartie in the chest where he fell into pieces and the light still eerily flickering over them. The lightning started to grow closer together and get brighter as we stood there, my heart pounding in my chest again but more from adrenaline from fear as something touched my hand and I looked down to see John's next to mine and reached closer to grip his fingers in mine and everything burst in a wash of brilliant white light.

Cold. It was cold. A breeze ran over my bare skin and I shivered as I opened my eyes to see the burned pavement underneath me and the flickers of light still weakly clinging to it and then my bare arm on top of that. Bare. Arms, shoulders, chest, legs, feet bare. Naked. I was naked. I looked over my shoulder and squinted at a set of head lights staring me in the face and blinked around the brightness of it to shape the size of a small car and those inside still indistinct. Car. People. Good all good thoughts. I rolled my head back to look up at the sky and the pitch black of it staring back at me with tiny stars barely visible and winking back at me, friendly but cold. John lifted his head from beside me and glanced around, pieces falling into place slower for him and his arms folded over his chest as if aware that he was naked and more self conscious of it then I was. I sat up and swayed as I did so, legs folded together for some modesty and the bandages of my knee gone and the skin underneath it clean as before I cut it. How ...? Horns honked more insistently and Cameron and Sarah both turned from where they lay, naked as John and I were but both of them less concerned of it as he was. Cameron slowly stood and I followed to stand next to her, another breeze cold and pressed along my skin as I shivered and ran my hand up my arm. The people in the car moved as Cameron stared at them and John and Sarah cautiously stood on either side, hundreds of cars now lined up behind the one in front of us and headlights bright and disconcerting from each one. Without warning Cameron spun and grabbed me by the hand and pulled me off through the cars and to the grassy side of the road. John ran up behind me, shaking and arms folded over his chest as I caught him sneaking glances and turning away with each one before following it up with another. The grass was dry under my feet and Cameron continued to drag me through it and down a shallow slope, her grip firm and almost gentle on mine and unnatural that metal and not bone was underneath. The grass turned to gravel and we ran down through a construction site with a shadows stretched from machinery to machinery and an electronic sign propped up on the side and the message: 09-03-07 to 09-24-07 bright on the screen. I slid to a stop in front of the bulldozer and Cameron finally let go of my hand as I sank into the shadows next to her, John and Sarah catching up and resting beside us.
"Where are we?" Sarah asked, glancing around the site as if looking for clues.
"Same where," Cameron answered, a small smile on her lips and gesturing to the flashing sign. "Different when." I turned back to look at the sign and unscrambling the numbers the letters to sometime in September, 2007. 2007. I let it sink in for a moment – a split second we did have of the eight years we'd skipped over – and followed my attention after Cameron as she continued running and fading in and out of the shadows. She stopped running and walking firmly into the middle of the road where a car skidded to a stop in front of her and the brightness of their headlights brightening everything around her but making her more difficult to see. Four men stepped out of the sides of the car and slammed the doors shut behind them, obviously drunk and impressed by the naked woman they sauntered over to her with catcalls cut short when she kneed the first one in the stomach and continued to attack the others with surgical blows as they went down easily and their groans of pain slurred by the alcohol.

I pulled on my borrowed shirt and let it drop to his full length ending around my knees, the layers thick and smelling heavily of alcohol but warm all the same.
"So this is where it all starts?" John asked, walking over to where we still stood by the bulldozer but this time more modestly dressed. "This is where Skynet begins?"
"Somewhere in there," Cameron answered, rolling up the sleeves of her baggy shirt and the edges of it flapping slightly in the chilled breeze.
"And nobody knows we're here?" John wondered, asking like it was too good to be true and glancing around the shadowed yard as if expecting someone – or something – to jump out from somewhere and too practiced to lower his guard on that expectation. I folded my arms over my chest and looked out past the fence around the opposite end of the yard and the tall buildings and lights populating the other side.
"You're safe," Cameron said and I turned back my attention to see her standing close to John as if to assure him and only him before walking around to where I stood and holding out her arm to where she had poorly tried to roll up the sleeve and only managed to bulge and overlap at the elbow. I took the hint and started to unroll it again before more carefully folding up the sides and buttoning where the cuff was still visible and making sure it stayed in place. Impressed she held out her other arm for me to do the same.
"No one is ever safe," Sarah and John said at the same time and I looked over to where he stood, hair tucked back behind his ears and his face half in shadow from the disorganized light. His eyes met mine and he faintly smiled, lines deepening in his face but the illusion there and in the shadow making him look older this time and more aware then when I had met him four days ago. I returned the smile nonetheless and his brightened as I did and looking almost hopeful in a way that I knew better then I allowed myself to believe.