Prologue
December 21, 2008
It was a cold night, even for this far north, with the frigid winds coming off the murky Hudson. Any good New Yorker could tell you that this cold was unnatural, something that settles deep in your bones. It makes a man uneasy, makes him feel the mortality welling deep inside him. Conjuring a what if, a strange nightmare of what it would be like to be stuck out there without shelter. That was a common man's thought process.
However, the train which barreled through the snowstorm at maximum speed trying to reach Chicago on time was not carrying the common man. The people on the bullet train were so far removed from the other side of life, of the row houses and noisy apartments, that they still thought welfare as more than a word in the dictionary. That luxury bullet of modern ingenuity carried it's passengers away from the glittering skyscrapers which stood like prison towers over the urban jungle, their height illuminated by flashing neon signs and search lights.
"Nice night for a smoke, huh?" The man with soulful eyes and thick designer stubble said as he leaned against the railing of the platform. He was clutching his fur lined leather coat close to him; the patch on the jacket identifying him as security. A wool beanie was pulled just above his frowning brow, and his breath steamed like an over boiling teapot. His unrelenting gaze was focused on the dark twisting trees, frosted in a nightmarish winter wonderland. Long and thick icicles hung off the raised platform, sometimes shattering in the wake of the fast moving transportation.
"Not, really … always gave a bad taste in my mouth." The second occupant of the dark railing answered. Unlike his companion, he was younger, almost passable for a college student, though he wasn't sure if the stubble would fool anyone. For the last couple of days looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, he felt that maybe it appeared as if he was trying too hard.
"Yeah, maybe, but sometimes you got to get that warmth in you, especially on a night like tonight." Hazel green eyes flicked toward the engine room. He chuckled, rubbing his hands against his arms, trying to generate some warmth.
The young man's sharp emerald eyes followed the other's to the engine room. "I know what you mean, and it doesn't help we're going so fast …" He turned back to the security guard with poignant look. The man didn't turn back.
He nodded absently. "I've heard of keeping trains on schedule, but this conductor is ridiculous." He said scratching his stubble.
"Maybe someone should explain it to him."
"Yeah, but he's got some encouragement from some of the boys."
"Really?"
"Yeah, two right by the door … didn't you know?"
"I do now … maybe there's a way you can relieve them."
The guard tilted his head slightly in agreement. "There are other ways of getting to him." He looked up at the roof of the train with a long sigh, the foggy breath trailing around his cheeks and behind his head.
"Give it a thought." The young man gave the older a friendly slap on the arm, moving back to the door.
"How about you?" The guard asked with a glare.
"I'm going back inside and play a hand or two."
"I thought you'd take a trip into the back and check on the valuables." He glared.
The young man smiled. "Come on, Derek … that's what we got machines for. It's been a stressful night; I thought I could use a distraction." His toothy grin was confident.
He slid the door open; turning back he tapped his ear in acknowledgment, before closing it behind him. With a shuttered sigh, the dapper young man took in the smell of cigars and strange mixtures of perfumes and colognes that smelled too expensive to be worn as heavily as they were. He closed his eyes, letting the pleasing warmth of the shelter fill him from his toes to the feathered lock hanging limply on his forehead. When it was that cold outside you couldn't help but feel it in places you didn't know could get cold.
When he turned back to the window, he was just in time to see combat boots dangling overhead before disappearing.
"On the roof, proceeding to the control room."
The boy moved his thumb to his nose and brushed it, covering for the com in his sleeve. "How's that?" he asked moving down the warm train corridor. The mahogany paneling, tight weaved Persian rugs, and stained glass windows were thick and insulating.
"Bracing"
John Connor grinned, reaching a reception checkpoint in front of a yellow and orange stained glass window. A young woman with dishwasher blond hair stood in front the polished podium. She wore a single nylon leotard made of black shiny fabric; her cleavage threatening to burst from it. A pair of bunny ears sat slanted on her head and a cotton rabbit tail was glued to her tailbone. She gave a Lolita giggle as an old man, with a thin wisp of silver hair and tub for a stomach, playfully chased after her, swatting at her tail. Eventually he put his cigar back in his mouth and the glass door slid open. The noise of inside the room burst forth; laughter and clinking of glasses, mixed with the intoxicating voice of a seductive jazz number filled the air. There was a twenty second delay before it shut behind the old man.
It was minuscule, but the girl gave a disgusted look behind her, straightening her cleavage, before finding John waiting for her. Her disgust seemed to melt away and she became interested in the youth as he approached.
"How you doin', baby?" she asked in a hard Brooklyn accent. It was as John figured, the girls were of a local flavor, sending in their infiltrator would be easier than he thought.
"Hello …" John tried not to sound too awkward, trying to avoid the hungry lion look, from what he guessed was a hooker … Looking for her own private Richard Gere.
"You here for the party, baby?" She wiggled her eyebrows.
"Something like that." John gave a sly grin as he returned her wiggle.
"You're cute …" She laughed out loud, flipping her hair.
"How cute?" He walked closer.
She rubbed an earring and threw out her hip, the same way she had when he came inside and watched the old man cease his chase. "Cute enough to gate crash …" Suddenly the door opened and the noise echoed through the narrow hallway again.
"Please …"
John glared at the grunted voice in his ear. "That's a neat trick, gonna let me in on it." He removed the trench coat which had been wrapped around him tightly, revealing a crisp, navy blue suit and matching tie. The girl bit her lip and walked around the podium toward John, twirling a strand of hair.
She reached for the coat, helping him out of it. "How about I let you in …" She whispered in his ear and found her way into his personal space. "On a neater one." She finished, tightening the tie around his neck.
"I'm sure you know a few …" He said.
"Maybe you'll find out." She reached for the fedora sitting on his head.
"God … I can smell the crabs from here."
John caught her opera-gloved wrist. "Maybe another time, sweetheart." He took a step back from her. "A promised a beautiful girl that the hat would stay." He winked, waltzing through the door into the noise.
Once inside he turned into the corner, rubbing his nose. "People are being screened by the hostess; she's giving a signal to someone. They're controlling and maintaining all the doors from some control center." He whispered into the com.
"Then you better find it, before we make our move."
"I'll handle it." He returned to the crowded room.
The party room was claustrophobic, and its atmosphere dense.. It was populated, though not entirely crowded; most of the people had found booths to sit in. John noticed that he must be in the VIP area, because there weren't too many people in the room. A bar lit by neon, topped with a futuristic metallic counter and furnished with swivel stools was located on the far end. Off in a corner, there was a small stage, where a young black woman in a red evening gown, sang a smooth set; her back-up singers clothed in blue helping along,. Their brass section was hidden or recorded.
John found a seat at the bar and swiveled from side to side with a squeak. "How are we doing?" He rubbed his noise.
"Almost there … give me three minutes …"
"Can you last out there?"
"Well, my leg hit a nail head. It was aching like a bastard for a couple of minutes."
"Then what?"
"I lost feeling in it …"
The room door slid open and two guards in fur lined leather coats entered; their matching wool ski masks pulled over their faces. As they thumped by, John turned his back to them, pulling his fedora, over his eyes.
"Thank god for small miracles?"
"There's a maintenance hatch, a couple feet away … I'll be in contact."
John looked over his shoulder, following the security men. The people in the room turned from their conversations, and the room got quiet. A reprieve from most of the noise, one eye on their glass the other on the men approaching a pool table located in the middle of the party room. The frame was made from black metal, and table itself was Plexiglas, the balls were clear, with frosted numbers of classic design on them.
The guards addressed a man wearing a classic penguin tuxedo covered by a robe-like fur lined coat. The pool stick he held accentuated his small stature; somewhat undersized and stumpy. He had a full head of wiry, coarse, plain, brown hair. Chomping on a half burned through cigar, he looked to be a rich man that was trying too hard to look like a rich man. He was obviously a tortured youth who came into power and wouldn't let anyone forget it. John didn't need to work at Pescadero to figure that one out.
"Well, I don't bleeding care, take care of it!" His cockney accent was unrefined, unpolished, and unflattering to the ear. The more he talked the more John figured he didn't come from the money he now earned.
"Right away, Mr. Smyth. Should we send a protection detail?" He asked.
The small man blew a ring of smoke in the ski masked security guard's face. "Naw, let this little shit weasel come to me … I don't mind getting a little work out before the main course." He had a devilish grin that John didn't like when he turned to a female companion just out of John's vision.
"Yes, sir …" They moved down the corridor to the exit at the other end staring back into the room. There was a pause once they left, before murmured conversations began again.
"There he is …" John whispered into the com.
"Smyth?" Derek asked. John noticed, much to his pleasure, the ending to the harsh, snow filled wind through the ear piece.
"Yep, Atherton Smyth himself." John confirmed.
"Is he as ugly as I remember?"
"He's not quite the ugly son of a bitch you described from the future. He's still got hair, and there's no bottle monocle, but he still looks like a bridge troll."
"He's got hair? Now that I'd love to see."
John quirked an eyebrow, and tried to imagine the gracious host of this gala even uglier than he was now. It was a hard task and one that might turn his stomach.
Atherton Smyth declared himself a "Business man" and collector; though, from what John had heard, he was more of a hoarder. Above everything else, this new kid on the block was passionate for the fine arts, and by fine arts John understood he meant the fine art of technology. More importantly his name was on the bloody wall.
It would seem through some of John's underground contacts in the hacker community that Atherton had gotten himself, through murder, intimidation, and torture, a new prototype weapon that would make "Bullets a thing of the past". John knew the subtext, and so did everyone else. Plasma rifles wouldn't be created for another fifteen years according to Cameron; this technology had to be destroyed. If he reengineered it, or even sold the weapon, the war would take a turn for the worst after Judgment Day.
Seeing as how this was the only piece of technology of its kind, it made it the most valued piece of tech on Earth, behind Cameron's chip. This meant that grabbing him and pressing his considerable amount of flesh, like Derek wanted, wouldn't suffice this time. Cameron had suggested infiltration, which John agreed with. Each member of the family had their own job to do. They had spent most of their time alone since the beginning. His mother and Derek had to go about their own way. It had just been John and Cameron alone in the house, then later in their Manhattan extended stay.
John had smiled at the way Cameron had stared up at all the skyscrapers. People used to say that there was nothing like New York City during Christmas, and John had to admit they were right. The lights, the atmosphere, it was potent for everyone, even for cyborg protectors it seemed. During a break, John had taken Cameron shopping just to get the feel of the city. When he had woken up the next morning she had decorated their room.
It had taken some time for their closeness to return after the events of his birthday and Riley. It all put a damper on him, made things a little too real. But something about the two of them alone in that city … maybe it was the time of year, or the fact that he hadn't seen anyone in months, but he had found her presence comforting. Sometimes she felt like a part of him, a piece that was missing. That made him feel better to know it was close enough when he needed it.
"Alright, Ladies and Gents … who's the dumb bleeder who wants to take me and m'lass next?" Smyth shouted to the tables, conversations picking up again. "Anyone, looking for a lighter pocketbook, eh?" he turned to the bar, some half looked on.
"Sure … Why not?" John stood up.
The man puffed smoke and took a step forward squinting at the youth. "Well, well, if it ain't fooking Dick Tracy himself …" His laugh was a low wheeze.
"He's a troll."
"Told you …"
Smyth puffed on the cigar, suspiciously. "Say something lad?" He asked narrowing his eyes.
"Classy …" He retorted, stalking past the small man toward the billiard sticks on a mahogany rack between two empty booths.
Twisted teeth chomped, down on the smoke. "You stay classy, and I'll just win your goddamn money … that way we both feel like we accomplished something." He laughed again.
John turned his back on him and made an angry face. "Obnoxious little son of a bitch" He muttered, checking pool cues.
"Well look at this one, babe, his balls are probably cold …" He heard an extremely familiar voice with an odd accent harass him.
"Now why's that luv?"
"Cause he ain't got no hair on them, to keep'em warm." The female said aloud to some courteous chuckles. "I bet he ain't got any either?!"
John whirled only to find matching green eyes right in front of him. She wore a red strapless gown that came up to her thighs. Her raven hair was curled and tussled, her lips were plump, old tattoos usually covered up, now on full display. A hand suddenly grabbed his crotch harshly.
John had hoped that after three months that his reunion with his mother could be on better terms. "Enjoying yourself?" John grunted painfully to Sarah through chattering teeth. He felt her press her cheek against his.
"Third storage car, two armed guards, M8's, night vision, squad in reserve, tell Cameron, to seal the fourth compartment, to keep them off us." She whispered quickly. "I'm sorry about this … I didn't hurt you?"
"No, I mean who need's children anyway?" He gasped.
She looked apologetic when she unhanded him, taking a step back. "Yep, he's got some alright?!" She announced in that weird accent that John couldn't place.
"Now luv, it ain't healthy for a young bloke to be getting all hot and bothered when ya' cutting off his blood flow like that. You could give him a stroke." He laughed.
Sarah gave a minx like smile, slinking back to the man, in a not very Sarah Connor like way; placing her hands behind her back coyly. "Getting jealous are we?" She bent down to his eye level, opening her mouth and rotating her jaw playfully. The man put his hands on her backside and pulled her closer.
"Why would I be jealous, when I know what you're after?" He moved to kiss her, but at the last second she moved herself away.
"You're right, and I'm not going to get it, with your hands on my ass, and the kid with a full wallet, am I?" her smile was smoldering.
His low chuckle seemed perverse, removing the cigar out of his mouth. "I'd stop making me fall in love, before I decided to collect you, too." They both laughed at the strange joke. He snapped his teeth at Sarah's nose playfully.
John sneered at the little show. This wasn't the plan, Derek and his mother were supposed to be security guards, infiltrate as mercenaries and work their way up. So why was his mother here, playing this up? He knew Sarah was smart, and maybe too smart for John's comfort. She knew how to play people, especially men. Being a part of the team is accepting a job and not interfering with others in order to complete the mission. But, John just couldn't handle that ugly little toad with his hands all over his mother, even if this was a better way to get information.
"Drink?"
At John's shoulder he found relief. A young girl, barely old enough to be serving alcohol was holding a glass out to the youth. She had dark hair and golden brown eyes, and smooth tanned skin. She wore bunny ears, the same shiny nylon leotard in purple and had a fluffy cotton tail, stockings, and tuxedo cuffs around her wrists. The boy paused at the young woman's attire a moment.
"Wow …" He cleared his throat.
"Drink?" She asked the same deadpanned question.
John smirked. "You read my mind." He took the glass from her and sat on at the edge of the table. "You're a life saver." He said, avoiding his mother and Smyth.
"It's why I'm here." Cameron responded.
He smiled at her affectionately till he found no kick from the coke. He tore his eyes from the drink back to the girl.
"Coke?" He asked in disappointment placing the drink next to him on the edge of the pool table. He pulled his undercover cyborg companion closer to him. He tried to appear as if they were flirting, knowing that personal familiarity could be suspicious.
She frowned, slipping into the role without being told, playing with his tie. "You're not twenty-one yet, it wouldn't be legal." She tightened her cheek.
He couldn't help but laugh. "Neither is stealing plasma rifles from kingpins, Cameron." He pointed out.
"Yes, but drinking is unhealthy."
"And so is being shot at."
"Only if they hit you."
"It's distinct risk."
"Not while I'm here."
He put his arms around her lower waist, placing his chin against her diaphragm, looking up at her. "It's comforting, to know that." He smirked, she tilted her head, a hand threading through his hair at the back of his head.
"Hey, are we going to stop screwing around? Or do you wanna sniff some more waitresses' asses?" John was surprised to find that it was actually Sarah who asked him that question. It seemed genuine as he saw her face contort angrily at the contact. Did she know that their little moment was an act? … did he think it was an act?
"Two against one, ain't good odds, when playing against this one, sonny." Smyth chuckled as Sarah polished her cue. "Better find you a partner, eh … some poor bastard who wants to lose a little spending money." He tapped the embers of his cigar onto the floor.
John turned and lifted Cameron's chin with his finger flirtingly. "How bout it, beautiful? Wanna play?" he asked. Cameron tilted her head.
"I don't understand the rules." She added with a naive innocence. John screwed his face up, they played all the time, and she always won. Cameron frowned at his reaction and motioned her eyes to the table. John felt a little stupid, now that he caught on.
"Oh, well I can show you." His voice sounded a little rushed, trying to compensate for the miscommunication.
Sarah was glaring at the two of them. Now he was sure that wasn't an act, she hadn't seen them in months, and maybe she was seeing how much they'd reconciled since then.
He handed Cameron the pool stick. "I see the balls are racked …" He added for effect, acting as if explaining to his partner how the game worked.
"Aye, and so were yours." Smyth added in, which got a couple of chuckles from onlookers. John rolled his eyes, but for some reason Cameron turned her glare on the man, it was sharp and deadly. The stout kingpin took a step back.
"Watch'ya self-girl … I catch you staring at me like that again, I'll have your eyes out, you little slut." He snapped, an undercurrent of fear twinge his voice. John shifted his jaw at the name calling, but said nothing. Placing a hand on his protector's waist, forgetting for a moment that Cameron most likely wouldn't need the comfort.
Cameron backed off her glare, and turned to John, who handed her his cue. "Alright" He smiled, placing his fedora playfully on her head between her bunny ears. When he did it he caught the ghost of a smile cross her lips, she sensed the minuscule surface of the real John for a second. He realized that he hadn't really needed to give her the hat, but since she had insisted all through their trek through the Upper East Side that he needed a hat for his suit, it had become their little private joke. Sarah seemed to notice that they were out of character, and John could swear that he could hear his mother's teeth grinding.
"So you're going to bend over the table …" John began to explain moving her into position. She subtly moved herself inside his personal space, the sweetness of her curled hair was in his nostrils. She bit her lip playfully. He could tell that she was still flirting, and he was starting to feel uncomfortable with her plan. When she bent down to steady her shot, John followed her, his hands steadying her hips, and his pelvis against her rear.
"Now what?" She said explicitly, making no other illusion about what they were really doing, or not, depending on whom you were. Smyth seemed intrigued at the new girl's cleavage almost spilling from the top of her costume, while Sarah was completely out of character; the dark look she was giving them was blowing her cover.
John took a moment to let the scent of their shared shampoo engulf him as he trailed his nose up her neck in his act or at least it was what he was telling himself. He stopped at her ear, and gave it a nibble, to which she giggled on cue.
"Third storage car, two armed guards, M8's, night vision, squad in reserve in the fourth car." He whispered in her ear. When she giggled in return, her whole body shook.
"Sounds like a plan." She turned back to him with a smile. It was a sign or cue that they were conversing in code, or that's what he thought they were doing. "Now or later." She wiggled her eyebrows at him in a way he had always done, it crushed him a little. For a moment he felt normal, felt that his breath was tickling her ear, and she was giggling because of it.
"Now or later?" John rubbed his nose.
"I don't know, how far out are we from the drop off?"
"How much time do you have, beautiful."
Cameron shifted her jaw the way Sarah did when she was in thought, looking up to the sky. John suddenly felt uncomfortable with her so close, when she did that.
"Fifteen minutes." She shrugged.
"Fifteen minutes?" He scratched his stubble.
"What do you think genius?"
John took the stick from Cameron and pulled them up, pressing himself against her back, her slender fingers intertwining with his at her stomach.
"Sorry, Smyth, but I think I just found a better game I'd like to try with my partner." He winked, placing his chin on her bare shoulder. Both noticed the strangle hold Sarah had on the billiard stick that John tried not to imagine was his neck.
The man got an uncomfortably snide smirk on his bird like face. "Of course … who am I to interrupt young love …" He shrugged. "But, if you and the rabbit breed little bunnies, make sure to name one after their dear uncle Atherton." His wheezy laugh unsettled John.
"We'll take it under consideration." Cameron replied. John gave him a nod, walking Cameron back the way he came. The boy tucked his companion against him, an arm around her as they made for the stained glass exit. Cameron placed his hat back on his head with a smile that seemed more uneven than the other perfect ones, which meant to John that it was genuine.
"Control room, first." Both said at the same time in a whisper. John and Cameron turned to look at each other. He smirked and she looked mildly pleased at the synch up, the façade of the flirty Cameron all but gone now.
"John …. John!"
Cameron snapped her attention to the youth, clearly being able to hear the ear piece audio. John rubbed his nose.
"What?"
"There's no driver!"
John looked down at his companion tucked in one of his arms; Cameron looked slightly alarmed at what she heard.
"Say that again?"
"There is no driver, controls are locked, and the accelerator is going on max … It's a …."
"Trap." John finished.
He felt Cameron turn stiff when the stain glass door opened and a squad of security guards appeared at the entrance, making a line of fur lined leather coats, snow pants, and jump boots. Cameron placed herself in front of John, her back against his chest.
CLICK
"Might as well, forget my last request and start thinking about yours."
John turned back, the guards stalled their advance at the mask of death on the petite girl's flawless face as she kept an intense watch on the group of mercenaries. Behind the pool table Smyth had Sarah by her hair, a .45 barrel pressed against her temple. She was hissing painfully through clenched teeth as she pushed to hold herself up as she was bent backward.
A woman screamed shrilly from the bar, and all eyes fell on the four of them standing in the middle of the entertainment car. The singing died away, with the brass continuing on, confirming a pre-recorded musical number.
"So what did you think, eh?" his voice got vicious with a gurgling snap to it. "That you could come on board my train, and take my property, did'ya." He tugged on Sarah's hair harshly. She let out a yell, groaning in pain. John took a step forward.
"Now, don't be hasty, here … just a bit of a distraction that's all."
"Did you not just hear me? There are no brakes … what's going on?"
"No need to take hostages."
"Damn … give me a minute."
The man sneered. "Hostages? I ain't taking no fooking prisoners, and we're going in order." He dug the gun in Sarah's temple. "And, I'm wasting this bitch first." He snarled, placing his finger on the trigger.
RATATATATATA
CRACK, CRACK, CRACK
There were gunshots in John's ear piece. Suddenly the train rumbled, people and glasses crashed to the floor, reversing backward in their seats, screams echoed down the halls.
This got Smyth to let go of Sarah's hair. The woman leaned forward, and then smashed her head back, busting the man's nose. With her captor's senses dulled, she twisted his hand till it made a pinching snap, letting his gun fall to the ground amongst his painful scream like a hungry lamb. Rather than staying to get even more beaten on, he took off running before she could get to him.
John turned from where he had fallen to find several of the guards still holding themselves up. He heard their guns cock, and then open fire on the crowds trying to escape. John shielded his head, trying to stay low on the floor. He suddenly felt someone jump on top of him protectively. The sound of nine millimeter blasts wracked the slender body.
From behind the pool table, Sarah picked up Smyth's fallen .45 and fired at a control panel on the wall near the stained glass door. Hissing as it slid across, at a reckless speed, the door slammed and sealed shut. The glass made weird sounds at it surprisingly didn't shatter from the bullets. The stained glass was encased in a layer of plexiglas that was, at the moment, holding off the bullets, but not for long.
"Are you alright?"
John was not as surprised as most normal people should have been at the situation. Cameron was protectively cradling him in her arms , her nylon bunny outfit covered in bullet holes and synthetic blood. His breath was ragged and tense as he looked around at the bodies that surrounded them. John felt someone take his cheek in hand; he whipped back alertly to see that it was Cameron who was staring intensely at him, as if she had just gone through an ordeal all on her own. After a beat she blinked and suddenly looked surprised as he was at the action.
"Yeah …" He panted. "It's why you're here right?" He half chuckled trying to fight that awkward feeling after having a life altering moment with a girl made of metal.
Her smile was no more than a smirk. "Yes …" She agreed softly. "It's why I'm here." She confirmed.
A hand grabbed the back of his jacket roughly and began to drag him like a wounded soldier across the floor to behind an overturned pool table. John didn't even have time to struggle, before he felt slender hands rubbing under his jacket. Sarah had dragged him from Cameron and propped him behind cover, checking him thoroughly for wounds.
"You alright …" he felt her hot scared breath on his neck her frame dipping against him.
John was still trying to get his mind back into it, when he huffed. "If that hand goes below the belt again, I'm going to have a whole new set of issues to talk to Doctor Sherman about." He motioned to her hands still searching fearfully for any silent bleeders.
Sarah glared. "Why do you have to be so sarcastic?" She snapped in residual helpless anger over almost losing him.
"Why can't you, ever just do what you're told? Why does it always have to be your way?!" John snapped back.
"My way's better."
"No, if you would've partnered up with Derek like I said, we would've seen this coming!"
"Then we wouldn't have known were the suitcase was."
"Thus the friendly pool game!"
"That wasn't a guarantee."
"Why do you have to be a spoiled brat about everything?"
"We've got problems," Derek's voice snapped him back.
John stuck his head out, peering over the table at the sound of glass giving way. "More than a couple." John agreed.
"Two guards busted in here, I took them down, but they shot up the controls… The autopilot is busted and the controls are shot.
"Fuuck," John sighed, loosening his tie. Sarah picked up the gun and fired through the brittle glass as a new spray of bullets burst from the sliding door, clinking against the metallic table, shattering the glass top. He took a deep thoughtful sigh, closing his eye, listening to the rhythmic gunfire.
When John's eyes opened, they were hardened, and more determined. "Alright," John said into the com. "This is what we're going to do … you and mom, meet up in the control room, see if you can't get these doors on our side. Cameron and I will go after the plasma rifle and Smyth." He said aloud.
"Really?" Sarah shouted over the gun fire, huddling next to him as automatic fire riddled their cover. "And how do you suppose I get there?" She ejected the clip from the pistol and reached under her skirt, before pulling out a new one.
Both John and Cameron watched her with matching frowns. Sarah inserted the new one with a clank, before she caught the stares. "What?!" She sounded fierce in the heat of battle.
John exchanged a look with Cameron before addressing her question. "I … I don't even want to know where you were storing that." He said cautiously.
Sarah rolled her eyes to the ceiling for a beat, popped up, and returning fire. Meanwhile John peeked over and saw the guards attempt to force their way inside, bottlenecking in the hallway past the decimated glass door. When he got back under cover Cameron was watching him. Was she waiting for him to give her an order? Since when did that ever happen? But there was no time anymore to ponder this new break through.
"Cameron …" He slapped the table. "Toss it." She flicked predatory eyes toward the guards and back to the table, analyzing the plan. She nodded in agreement, getting to her feet in a crouch. John turned back to Sarah, huddling low.
"Make for the booth!" He shouted at her.
"What?" She sounded puzzled, almost annoyed at the cut in. John grabbed the gun from her, when it looked as if he was about to be ignored. "John! What …?" He gripped it with his left hand, his strong arm, wrapped itself around Sarah's waist.
He didn't need to say "Now"; he didn't need to explain what they were going to do. Cameron knew already what the plan was with only two words, all John did was nod. The second he was standing, Cameron had the table in hand lifting it effortlessly. John raced alongside her make shift shield toward the booths, dragging Sarah with him, with a guiding arm. He hurriedly slung Sarah onto a leather bench, jumping on top of her protectively.
With the coast clear, the cyborg flipped the billiard table back to normal and threw it at the men bunched together in the hallway. Like a bowling ball to pins, Cameron rolled a perfect strike, all the men going down in perfect order, not one getting back up.
Suddenly all that could be heard was the eerie sound of wheels on tracks, clicking, like a ticking time bomb that was impossible to be defused. John pushed himself off Sarah, and quickly helped her to a sitting position. He reached a hand up and pushed her soft curls from her face.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
Her hand found his, pressing it against her cheek. "I'm fine." She was caught up in him, he noticed. He wondered what she saw. His five year old self? A grown up? his father? Her eyes hardened again, and she stood up. "Come on … we don't have a lot of time." She announced. John hadn't told her about the runaway train, but he figured, judging by the sound of the wheels, that it didn't sound good.
They collected the weapons, both Sarah and John taking an extra clip with the machine guns. "The control room should be close to the engineer cockpit … where the power cables converge." John said marking his weapon. Sarah was watching him with strangely soft eyes, maternal eyes, it suddenly made him very sad, and he wasn't sure why.
"Maybe I should take Smyth …" She said, nervously.
John smirked confidently. "We've got'em." John pulled back the charging handle. Sarah looked uncomfortable; she rounded on Cameron, who decided to only use one pistol, which John figured it was all she needed. The girl tilted her head at the fierce expression suddenly finding its way toward her.
"Don't you lose him!" She snapped at the cyborg. "Don't you ever leave him … do you understand me?" John had no idea what she was getting at or where the hell this was all suddenly coming from.
"I promise." Cameron said with a puzzled frown.
"Say it again."
"I promise, never to leave him alone." She said without missing a beat, her voice softer and solemn. Sarah nodded and turned to leave, avoiding John's puzzled face.
"Mom?" John called after.
Sarah stopped halfway down the hall, it seemed that it was taking everything she had not to lose it. She turned back to the young man she had raised. Her face softened, and she suddenly looked younger than John had ever seen her. He wanted to ask what she was going on about, what her problem was. But for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to ask.
He opened his mouth, then balked, he opened it again, but he couldn't find what he wanted to say. It was a strange feeling in the air; a strange feeling inside his gut that told him that if he was going to say something to her it should be now.
"You look beautiful."
He saw his mother's cheeks blush slightly, and she gave him a toothy grin. "Shut up." She chuckled shyly, they paused, taking each other in, before she nodded and walked away.
John watched her go and got a bad feeling about what was to come.
The luxury cars of the bullet train were bright, warm, paneled with mahogany, and plush carpets from Persia. The storage cars that brought up the rear were a far cry from the comfort ahead of them. Cold, metallic and loud, combined with the weather, they felt like large freezers. The presence of frozen Mother Nature brought a new sense of cold. That smell of damp snow and dripping ice, making you feel cold before you even got there. A door slid open, on its own and two figures entered from the warm passenger cars.
Cameron was on point; a leather fur lined coat dominated her frame, draped over her snuggly. She held a .45 pistol easily in her hand, an extension of her arm. John brought up the rear, wearing his overcoat, the collar popped up in the back, his hat pulled low over his eyes. His M8 was in a ready position against his shoulder, barrel pointed at the ground.
"Cameron …" John whispered, he knew that he would have to shout to anyone else, but Cameron could blow away a mouse inside a wall just from its squeak. The girl stopped and turned slightly to face him. John motioned her with two fingers to the other side of the luggage racks that split the car into two narrow walkways.
She was hesitant for a moment, tightening her cheek in thought. Finally she relented when he motioned her where he wanted her again. She strutted down to the other side and in tandem cleared both sides of the car, passing crates of frozen food, and alcohol for the party. The two of them met at the next door that slid open the minute they got close.
"Automatic sensors?" Cameron asked, converging with John, both glancing into the next car. This one held luggage, big suitcases, and metallic portable safes in Plexiglas cases for extra safety.
Green eyes studied the doors for a moment. "Not likely." His voice was cautious, moving into the room first this time. Both broke off and crossed, going down opposite walkways. Like before, they found nothing waiting for them. They both met up at the next door, which opened again for them.
"Something's not right." John studied the way they came.
The cyborg nodded. "This is too easy." She agreed, glancing into the next room. She glared when she saw a plexiglas container opened, and the chrome storage case empty in the middle of a bare metal shelf. "John …" She said stepping forward boldly into the room seeing the plasma rifle missing.
SHIFF!
The doors slammed behind Cameron, separating her from John. Both Cameron and John pulled on the sealed door.
"Cameron!" His voice was muffled by the metal and thick glass of the door. The cyborg watched him slam a fist at the thick porthole of glass.
"Stand back!" She called, rearing back to hit the door.
THEUW!
A super-heated bolt of light, scorched the spot next to her. Cameron spun out of the way, finding a plexiglas crate with an empty safe inside it. Behind cover, she found Atherton Smyth, laughing manically. He felt taller, more powerful than he had ever felt before with the weapon in his hand, he felt like a god. Though god couldn't be shot, which was why he yelped as the cyborg opened fire at him. He cursed loudly, finding a place to hide.
RATATATA!
Cameron turned her head to the sound of machine guns behind her. She saw the sparks of, nine millimeter rounds off the metal just under the glass. Her first and most basic instinct was to go help John, who was in trouble. The girl stood without thinking, to charge at the door.
THEUW!
A bolt of light grazed her heavy coat sleeve, she ducked again, using her hand to put out the glowing embers of the gashed leather.
"MEHEHEH! What's the matter, Juliet? Forgot Romeo did'ya?!" A voice taunted her. Cameron opened fire where the voice originated from. She heard him wail in alarm, she was down to three rounds. She searched her database for early plasma rifle models, and each group she found confirmed at least thirty shots per clip.
SHIEFF!
Suddenly the doors opened again with a loud bang, she looked back to find the way clear, it would seem that Sarah and Derek had taken control of the train. She stood up, only to come barrel to barrel with Smyth, a new Cuban chomped between his teeth, the glow at the tip of the cigar shadowing half his face.
"What'll it be, Lass?" He asked; his aim dead to rights between Cameron's eyes. "Will it be me, or Romeo?" His voice betrayed a sense of madness, like a driver's last few seconds in a game of chicken with a freight train.
RATATATA!
Her decision was made in a millisecond.
The girl didn't flinch, didn't blink, didn't breath, she was a statue carved from death. But she took a step back from him. "Go!" Her voice was deadpanned and colder than anything you could find outside. Her expression was a silent promise that this was only a momentary truce, that no one put John in danger and got away … this was not over.
Atherton Smyth just smiled, a smarmy, greasy smile, blowing a smoke ring at Cameron. "Nice doin' business with'ya luv." The small stump of a man backed away slowly, till he was out of sight.
With the man gone, Cameron sprinted out of the room and back where she had been separated from John. She saw three guards dead on the floor, bullet holes riddled through them, blood coagulating into one large pool of death. John's gun lay on the floor next to two empty clips. She heard grunting and gargling, heavy thumping. The cyborg stalked quickly toward it.
On the floor, John had his hands around a thick neck of a large mercenary with long blond hair falling out of his mostly pulled off ski mask. He cursed his young opponent in German, his big hands pressing on John's face, trying to push him off. They struggled, till the soldier of fortune flipped John over, getting on top of him, drawing a combat knife. John blocked the stab, throwing his forearm into opponent's striking arm, stopping his motion.
There was no wasted motion when Cameron stormed forward and grabbed the man off John and lifted him in the air as if he was as light as a pillow. All it took was a flick of a wrist, his neck snapped like a brittle pencil on a busy school day. She threw him aside, his face slamming against the wall, sliding limply to the floor unmoving.
John raised his hand thinking to be offered help up, but instead Cameron took hold of his stitched trench coat by the front and hauled him to his feet. She held onto him for a long moment examining him thoroughly, almost worriedly.
"You know I had him where I wanted him." He panted looking down at the mess he had made, trying not to think about the lives he ended this night.
The softest of smiles graced her lips. "I know …" She looked on with him. Her hands still clenched to the front of his coat possessively.
The two of them hadn't learned the ups and downs of the world they were living in with each other. They didn't know how to navigate buried feelings and complicated knowledge of forever in the other's company. But tonight the two of them found out that this partnership was a good start to figure out the rest.
"Smyth?"
"Gone"
"The rifle?"
"Gone as well."
"… My hat?"
"There's a nine millimeter hole in it …"
"I'll be damned."
Being in the warm corridors of the luxury cars again was only a momentary bliss. The two teens rushed through the narrow spaces toward the front of the train. They followed the trail of destruction left in Sarah Connor and Derek Reese's wake. Bodies of unsuspecting guards littered the way, like a path of violence to the control room.
"John, John you need to get over here, right now!"
"Thirty seconds!" He replied into his sleeve. He hadn't been too mad at Cameron, sure the rifle got away, but he wasn't sure he could blame her for choosing him over the mission. He had done the same on his birthday. Her life or the mission, he chose her the minute he saw her lying in that old junker, ready to be burned. She had now done the same for him … there would be a lot to sort out once they got back home, wouldn't there?
He had complete tunnel vision for the rest of the trip, spurred on by the fact that the train was starting to tip at an angle. He was starting to get worried, because all he could do was think of that last look his mom gave him before she disappeared. That weird sense of … he couldn't even think about the word, suffice to say that it seemed like it was for the last time.
The control room was right were John thought it would be. Three men lay propped against a steel door, barred from the outside; a security measure John didn't understand when he saw it. Inside, through glass panes he saw his mother and uncle struggling to force the door open.
"What happened?" John shouted.
Derek pointed to his ear, nudging Sarah to get her attention. She looked up and found John's eyes, the look she had for him, made his insides drop and twist. It was a look of fear mixed with a strange acceptance of an inevitable John couldn't as the train tilted farther.
"Hey!" John tried to force the bars apart, but he would have better luck, pulling iron hinges off an old stove. Derek pointed to his ear again, this time John understood what he was saying.
"What happened?" He said into the sleeve.
"The minute Cameron let that piece of shit go, he hit a switch on a remote and shut us in here." Derek grunted trying to pry open the door.
"We're sealed in, John!" Sarah leaned into Derek talking into his ear.
Quickly the teen turned to Cameron who was observing the barred control room, her eyes searching thoroughly.
"Can you get them out?" John asked desperately, feeling the train begin to shake and scenery start to fade into black outside. Cameron said nothing. She just stared at him, and opened her mouth.
"No!" John interrupted her. He looked around with panic at everything around the door. "There has to be a safe switch somewhere out here!" John began looking around.
"It's a dead switch John … controlled from the outside." Cameron said, watching him, as the lights flickered, the tremors began becoming more violent. Inside Derek and Sarah both looked up and then back at John who began tearing at the walls, looking for electrical wires.
"John, we have to go." Cameron said gently.
The youth turned to her as if she had just stabbed him in the spleen. "Are you nuts? They're trapped in there!" He yelled. "We got to save them!" he shouted, turning back, pulling the wires out frantically.
Cameron stepped forward. "The Train is falling off the track. It will crash very soon, We have to leave." Her voice was monotone; challenging John's panicked last-ditch efforts. John Connor ignored the cyborg, connecting wires together, but it didn't do anything but blow out light bulbs over head from power surges.
"John Connor!"
The voice snapped him to attention, through the glass he found Sarah staring at him, her face stern and strong, like all of his memories of her. She punched the glass hard. "You get off this train, right now!" She ordered.
"No … not without you and Derek!" he shook his head, avoiding their gaze. "It's just the right wire combination, is all!" His voice was rushed, the copper electrical cracking and snapping as he conducted and sparked them together.
"John, you've got to go." This time it was Derek, his voice was eerily calm and his gaze steady and piercing through the glass. Derek Reese was a soldier, he had fought and killed, and learned long ago how to die.
Tears began to well in his eyes. "You don't understand …" John's voice was horse. "I've got to save you …!" He said pulling at the bars with all his strength. Derek got a rueful painfully Derek Reese smile. The same smile he had in the park when John saw his father for the first time, the same smile he had in the park as a twelve year old playing with his little brother.
"Don't worry about that, kid, you did something better for me."
CRACK, CRACK, CRACK
Gunshots rang out, startling John. Cameron fired the last of her clip into the window, weakening the structure, before her fist burst through the rest. A deep cold rushed through the hallway, but John didn't seem to notice … he was numbed already.
"Mom!" John wasn't sure if anyone could hear it. But Sarah put her hand on the glass, a tear ran down her cheek. But she didn't say anything, her eyes were on him, but her mind was somewhere else. With a boy who slept with his hand under her chin, who crawled into bed with her when he was lonely or scared, and a simple hug made it go away, chubby cheeks, pirate smile, and big loving green eyes.
"Go!" She fought a sob off, he voice half stern, half pained.
Before he could say anything more to fight them on their decision, he felt two wool lined heavy security coats folding over him and a slender arm wrap around his throat. It began pulling him away from the door.
"No!" John screamed after the two people now visibly clutching the other's hand behind a frosting glass window. He felt petite hands grip him with the strength of a trash compactor claw and fling him out a dark hole. His vision was darkened to total black, though his eyes were open. He felt as if he was floating in the below-zero air for what seemed like forever before he landed face first in a hard compacted powder, painfully cold to the touch. He grunted and yelled as he slid in the momentum, snow caked in his mouth.
He struggled to his feet, his body sore and buckled, spitting up red tinted snow. The iced wind swirled through his soft spiked locks. His head felt numbed, but he chased after the only light he could see, small rectangular shaped window, passing by, carried by an unseen metal body in the dark. John wanted to scream for his mother and uncle, but the cold welled so deep inside him, that all he could do was make a strangled cry.
SCHRREEECHCCHH!
An awful noise that curdled John's blood rose high above the sound of the violent wind. He ran as fast as he could after the train as the lights flickered out and all he could see was the sparks of metal rubbing together as the bullet train rolled off the track, car by car falling away into a dark abyss below.
Suddenly something tackled John to the floor. He kicked, screamed, and punched, to get away from the person that restrained him from following the train over the edge. The teen fought and fought till there was nothing left to show that the train was there, till there was nothing left to show a boy was ever there.
For a moment the moon broke free from the thick clouds of the cold night, framing the scene like a spotlight on anguish's stage. In Cameron's warm embrace, John fell to his knees, his hands behind his head and gave one last pained scream in the sight of the dying moonlight.