Disclaimer: Here we go again. I have no ties, creative connection, claims or rights to any of the Terminator characters or franchise…blah, blah, blah. Lawyers huh? What are ya gonna do? Original characters are mine though. Oh well, on with the story.
The Importance of Being Protein
Chapter 2-Down the Rabbit Hole
The two opposing parties eyed one another in silence for some seconds. No stranger to armed standoffs, Marcus kept his hands in full view, well away from his guns. To his right, taut and watchful, Barnes did the same.
The tense stalemate broke when a tall scruffy man in the center stepped forward. About ten years older than Marcus's age, (his real age, and not how old he looked), the man had a short rough beard and grey streaked dark hair that brushed the collar of his long coat. Shifting his weapon to his back by its sling, he extended his right hand. The glove covering it had the fingertips missing.
"See you boys met Tigger" he said by way of introduction as he shook Marcus's hand. The voice was low pitched with a western twang. They could all hear the screams of the thwarted feline somewhere nearby.
"We'd all best be moving along. No sense in aggravating him." the still unnamed man stated, tuning around and starting off. Keeping the pair of Resistance fighters in the middle of the group, the rest followed.
"Is it likely to follow us?" Marcus asked, not terribly concerned. He was fairly sure his earlier guess was correct. The tiger's limited exposure to armed humans would have taught it the wisdom of leaving them well alone, especially when they were traveling in a pack.
"Well he is right partial to his territory and he's probably pretty hungry by now. Doesn't sound like he's had a successful hunt for a while, but he ain't gonna bother a group this big and we're moving out of his range anyhow, so I figure we'll be ok" the man answered.
"Brandon Weatherly" their host threw back over his shoulder, at last giving Marcus and Barnes a name.
"Marcus Wright" Marcus said, giving his own. Barnes could speak for himself.
"Colonel Anthony Barnes" the bearded former Marine said.
Marcus rolled his eyes at Barnes inclusion of his rank but said nothing.
"Yeah, kinda figured you fellas for Resistance, got the red patches on your sleeves and all."
Those same red identifiers were conspicuously missing on the clothes of their guides, Marcus noticed. He knew Barnes had too. Neither chose bring it up for the time being.
The comment had come from another of the newcomers, a woman.
"Kayla Tracey" she introduced. As she walked on Marcus's left, she was giving him a peculiar sideways look. Not like she was interested in that way exactly, but more like she was sizing him up for something else. The appraisal made him vaguely uneasy. He realized the last woman to look at him like that had been Serena Kogan. He suppressed the sudden feeling of disquiet.
"The tiger's a male? There a mate around here anywhere?" Marcus wanted to know.
"Yeah, he's got a girl" Weatherly supplied. " And she's got some young, but her turf's off to the west a ways. We're safe enough for now. Got more to worry about from the machine killers than from the tigers right at the moment. Gotta get to some cover. Doesn't happen so much anymore since we humans took back the majority of Nevada, but the H-K's still buzz us at night sometimes. We should wait for first light before we try to get home."
"And where's that?" Barnes prodded.
Weatherly gave an enigmatic half smile. "Not too far away from here."
Nicely nonspecific, Marcus thought. He shot a quick at look Barnes. The Colonel didn't like that answer either. The group traveled on in silence for some time.
Weatherly finally broke the conversation fast. "Where you boys from?" he asked casually.
Marcus could sense there was more depth to the question than just making talk. Why did he pick up such a weird feeling from these people? So far, they'd done nothing to warrant it, but it refused to go away.
"California" Barnes answered shortly. Out of long habit, he was loath to give away too much information.
"Heard tell John Connor's in California" Weatherly put forth, again just a bit too casually for Marcus's liking. Beside him, he felt Barnes stiffen imperceptibly.
"Wouldn't know about that" Marcus allowed truthfully. The base had been on the verge of one of their frequent moves right before the pair departed for their fact finding mission. By now, no telling where their new home might be. Connor liked to keep it unpredictable. Hard to find was harder to kill.
Another one of their companions spoke up. "Sure would like to meet him someday. Might even join up with the Resistance" the speaker looked to be around Kyle Reese's age, thin, with dark blond hair framing a pockmarked complexion.
"The Resistance is always looking for more fighters. We need everybody we can get to put Skynet down" Marcus replied, more out of politeness than anything else. They were surrounded and on strange ground. A little diplomacy couldn't hurt.
"Ain't that the truth" Weatherly agreed, then spat. "Here we are."
Marcus struggled to hide his surprise. In front of him appeared to be the entrance to an old mine. At least it looked old. Also extremely unsafe. Way too unsafe for him to be walking into by himself, let alone braced by a complement of strangers whose demeanor was waking all his inner alarms one by one. Glancing over at Anthony Barnes, he could tell the other man had as many reservations as he did. This just kept getting better.
Weatherly grinned at their nervousness. "Don't worry fellas, it's not a real mine. Used to be part of one of some old west themed tourist trap. Goes down far enough to hide us from anything Skynet might have flying around up there, so it's safer to travel this way 'specially in the dark."
"You're not worried there might be terminators or something else waiting on you in here sometime?" Barnes disputed.
"We got it wired" Weatherly reassured him. "Nothing moves thru these tunnels we don't know about."
The word "wired" registered with Marcus. Those alarm bells started tingling a tad louder. This apparently ragtag group of refugees had technology sophisticated enough to surveil the approach and egress to wherever they called home. But they weren't Resistance. That was unpleasantly interesting.
"Not much light in there right?" Barnes asked.
"Yep. Almost none. Don't worry about that either. Got that covered too" the skinny blond kid spouted.
Barnes and Wright's bewilderment must have shown on their faces because the kid broke into a wiseass grin that irritated Marcus tremendously.
"Don't mind him" Weatherly put in. "Nicky's mouth gets ahead of his brain a lot. He means these."
Unshouldering his pack, their guide delved inside and came up with a couple of smallish bundles. Handing one to Marcus and one to Barnes, he waited while they were opened.
If the Nevadans were expecting their guests to be confused, they were disappointed. Both Marcus Wright and Anthony Barnes recognized they were holding NV goggles. Military for most of his adult life, the Colonel had used NV many times before. In Marcus's case, not all those bank robberies from his lawless days were daytime hits and night vision goggles made stealing in the dark much easier. Now, with his new abilities, the NV was unnecessary, but Marcus accepted them anyway for appearances sake.
What were the odds, Marcus asked himself, that he and Barnes would stumble across a group of well armed, well equipped non-Resistance affiliated refugees in the middle of a ruined bombed out Las Vegas? People who didn't seem to have much fear of Skynet or terminators or any machine danger? If there weren't Barnes and the mission to consider, Marcus's well honed sense of self preservation would have had him out of there whatever it took. But he couldn't ditch Barnes, and they were here on business for Connor, so for now, he'd swallow his misgivings and go with the flow.
Strapping on the NV's he and Anthony Barnes plunged into the black tunnel after Brandon Weatherly.
It came at him without warning from out of the darkness. Ripping the NV goggles off his head, Marcus stumbled backward with a strangled yelp clawing for the Benelli M4 slung diagonally across his back. His fingers were wrapped around the barrel and the gun halfway in hand before he realized the thing that startled him into such a defensive reaction could no longer hurt him. The skeletal cadaver of the T-800 was drilled to the side of the shaft, its menacing red eyes permanently darkened.
"Told ya nothing moves thru these tunnels we don't know about and can't handle" Weatherly said neutrally. He started walking again.
And you knew that little piece of shock art was waiting on us didn't you Brandon? Hope you enjoyed the show. Angry at first, Marcus turned thoughtful. Some people can tell you things about themselves and they won't even know their doing it. You just have to be paying attention. Carl Soames had laid that little piece of wisdom on him long ago during one of their late night sessions huddled over the family car. The mind and its memories were funny things, with peculiar timing. 'Specially my mind, he snorted silently. That he should recall that conversation now.
"The 8's in sections" Marcus started. "How'd it get that way? You killed it then chopped it up?" He and Barnes both knew from painful personal experience how much it took to finish off a T-800.
"Naw" another of the party replied. "Blew itself up. Metal man there stepped on a Hellpatch."
Marcus froze, suddenly feeling trapped, unwilling to move forward, unable to go back the way he'd come.
"The shaft is mined?" he hissed crossly.
"Here and there" Weatherly threw off. "We know where they all are. But hey, you'd only have to worry about it if you were made out of metal, right? Let's get moving again."
Where'd this scraggly group score a supply of Hellpatch mines, so named because they introduced who or whatever stepped on one of them to a small piece of their namesake?
"We might have a-" Barnes began.
Marcus took an apparent misstep and stumbled awkwardly, falling into him.
"No" he whispered quickly, so quietly only Barnes could hear. "They don't get to know."
"But…" Barnes started to object.
Marcus squeezed Barnes arm with enough force to make his point. The Colonel clammed up.
"There some kind of complication we ought to know about?" Weatherly asked.
"No" Marcus told him. "Let's go. Lead on" Marcus huffed, glad the tunnel's darkness and the NV goggles he'd put back into position partially obscured his face.
Puzzled, Weatherly turned and continued on with the rest following.
"Crazy man" Barnes muttered under his breath."Gonna get us all blown up." Shaking his head, he trudged along. Machine, human or a combo-pack, Marcus Wright was flat out barking at the moon crazy.
"Would you like something to eat?" a woman's voice inquired behind him. Anthony Barnes turned to see an attractive female standing behind him with what looked like a hot bowl of meat and vegetable stew. She hadn't been among the dozen so individuals that made up his and Wright's Vegas escort.
About five six, the slender African American woman had a welcoming, friendly face framed by short, kinky-curly black hair. Her chocolate brown eyes seemed to draw Barnes in.
He tried not to think how long it had been since he'd…down boy, he admonished. She's offering you dinner, that all.
"Thanks" he said, accepting the warm bowl and a spoon. The food tasted real good. His stomach rumbled as he sent down the first mouthful. He couldn't ID the meat, but right at the moment he was more interested in eating it.
Uninvited the woman took a seat next to him, which he didn't mind. She had a nice smell, kind of a mix of mint and roses. He wondered how she'd made that happen in a world with no more department stores and perfume counters. The scent was somehow familiar, but he couldn't place it and after a few seconds, stopped trying.
"Kim Stanley" she said, offering him a slender hand.
"Anthony Barnes" his large calloused hand swallowed her smaller one.
"Do people call you Tony?"
"I don't really like it" he admitted.
"Anthony it is then" she shrugged, smiling.
She had dimples. Nice ones. His eyes strayed south of their own accord. She had a respectable rack too. STOP, he rebuked internally, yanking his gaze back to her face. There was no change in her easy demeanor or tone. Good, maybe she hadn't noticed his, uh, lapse.
"You've been with the Resistance a long time, huh?" Kim asked.
"Since the beginning" Barnes answered. No reason not to. It was an innocent enough question.
"What about him?" she wanted to know next, inclining her head in Marcus's direction.
"Not as long" Barnes told her, not inclined to elaborate.
"Oh" she shrugged again. "Well, I don't really want to talk about him anyway. I rather talk about you. I suppose you've killed a lot of machines, have you?"
"Yeah, my share, I guess" he conceded. "We keep killing them and Skynet keeps sending more so we can't stop."
"You're very determined" Kim admired.
"It's them or us" he said. "Skynet ain't about to stop. It wants to kill us all. You gotta know that even shut away down here like you are."
Barnes still couldn't get his head around where "here" was. Area 51. Groom Lake. Dreamland. Like just about everybody else in the U. S., he'd grown up hearing stories about this place, never imaging he'd one day be standing in the middle of it. The last Connor and the Resistance knew of, the former ultra secret government R & D facility was wrested from Skynet and held by humans once more. Now there wasn't a terminator, H-K or any other Skynet controlled machine or computer in sight, at least not that he could tell. The place had a lingering "machine" feel to it. You could still see Skynet's decorating touches if you looked close enough. Barnes was sure, the place he saw now was a long come down from its' pre-Judgment Day standards, but still, humans lived here now. There was a story behind that and he fully intended to hear it. One of the chapters could involve the missing Resistance units. It almost had to. The lovely Kim might be able to clear up a lot of questions.
Returned from completing the regular check in with home base, Marcus watched Barnes interact with the woman. Looked like they were getting pretty tight. He could have boosted his hearing to pick up the conversation, but decided not to. For one thing, it wasn't his business. For another, he'd finally learned that just 'cause he could do something didn't mean he should. That lesson had been driven home at a terrible cost. And lastly, things appeared to be developing along promising lines for Barnes. That might actually work in Marcus's favor. Who knows, he mused. Getting laid might mellow him out some. Get him to stop looking at me like he's a lawman and I'm still knocking over banks. If this pretty stranger could make that happen, Marcus was all for it.
Enough with Barnes, Wright figured. He's on his own. Marcus went looking for Brandon Weatherly. Might as well stop tiptoeing around the elephant. The folks currently calling Area 51 home had to have come into contact with the missing Resistance fighters at some point. But you'd never know it by the way they acted. Curioser and curiouser. In his own way, Marcus was every bit as skilled an interrogator as any cop he'd ever faced down, but he knew Weatherly would take careful handling.
Kayla Tracey intercepted him before he could track down the de facto 51 leader. "You hungry Mr. California?" she sauntered up with a bowl of the same stew Barnes new friend had offered to the Colonel. Showered and changed she'd lost the dust and grit of the day. She hadn't lost the look. She still had that.
Go away, Marcus thought. "No, thank you. I'm not hungry" he replied evenly. Whoa. Fast, so fast he almost chalked it up to imagination, Tracey's mouth tightened and those eyes that reminded him so much of Serena darkened for a fraction of a second. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn his reply had annoyed her. Who gets pissed 'cause you say no to a bowl of stew?
"Come one, not even one little bite? It's pretty good ya know. Dante really knows his stuff" she urged, not willing to let it go for some reason.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks anyway. 'Sides, your resources have to be kind of limited. Don't want to take food out of somebody else's mouth." Marcus watched, but she didn't slip again.
"Well, if you're sure, but you don't know what you're missing" Tracey warned, moving off at last.
Marcus released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Don't come back, he thought. Ugh! Suddenly he missed Blair acutely. He always felt disconcerted when they were apart, but since he and Barnes had made the acquaintance of Brandon Weatherly and the rest of the 51 inhabitants, he really wanted to be with his wife again. Thinking of her mahogany hair and honey eyes calmed him. Back to business. Ok Brandon, where are you hiding? He caught Barnes's eye and the Colonel excused himself momentarily.
"The radio is back in your room" he told the Colonel. I'm going to hunt up Weatherly" Marcus told him. There's been no wisp of contact with our people by anyone here. Think it's time we got some answers"
"I'm going to call it a night" Barnes stated, eyeing Kim. "I'm done for. Need to grab some rack."
Marcus kept his face carefully blank following the unintentional double entendre. "Let you know what I find out." He left in search of Brandon Weatherly, casting an amused glance back over his shoulder. Barnes had already resumed his close proximity to the comely woman. More than one way to pry information out of a source, I guess. Bet Barnes will have a lot more fun pumping his subject than I will mine, he chuckled cynically.
Ok Weatherly. Come out, come out wherever you are.
It turned out not to be as difficult to locate the man as Marcus had thought it would. A short time questioning some of the other 51 residents led Wright down a mostly unlit hallway. Passing what looked like a row of whilom offices, their windows long since a memory, he came to the end. About to raise his hand and knock, he hesitated after realizing something intriguing. This office contained windows and a door of frosted glass for him to rap his knuckles against. It was a small detail, and most likely would have not been noted by most people, but Marcus Wright wasn't most people. There were some who would argue he was no longer a "people" at all, but that train of thought was for another time. A sage voice who's counsel Marcus had long ago learned to respect enjoined him to concentrate on Weatherly. He could hear Dale Carpenter's words running thru his head. "On your game, son. You don't want to miss something that might keep your nuts out of the chopper." He knocked. After receiving the assent to enter, he twisted the latch and went in.
Damn! Anthony Barnes breathed. It's been way too long! Kim Stanley walked towards him with a look in her eyes that left no question as to her intentions. If he'd had any persistent doubts on the subject, her current state of undress washed them away. Wearing nothing more concealing from the waist up than a seductive smile, Kim snuggled up to him, her soft lips and moist tongue tasting the skin at the base of his throat. Her hands journeyed in the opposite direction, straying to the buckle of the belt around his waist. With a practice that might have disturbed him had he been thinking clearly, she swiftly unlatched the belt. Working the zipper down, she slid a soft hand past the band of his worn boxers. Cupping him with her palm, she whispered, "well, Anthony, you just gonna stand there and let me do all the work?" Her voice was husky with desire.
Barnes growled, folding his muscled arms around her, kissing her, his tongue demanding entrance to her mouth. Removing her remaining clothing, he pulled her to him, feeling her long supple legs wrap around him. She moaned pleasurably as he slowly and carefully maneuvered them to the bed. He landed on his back, Kim on top of him. Grinning mischievously, she helped him lose the rest of his clothes, then playfully straddled him, hovering teasingly just above his manhood. She leaned down to kiss him, lightly nipping the skin on the side of his neck as she did so. The double offering of her mocha colored breasts was too tempting for him to pass up. Reaching out with both hands, he caressed her, enjoying the feel of her body.
It really has been too long, he reasoned. Think maybe my body's forgotten how to respond. It's not supposed to be doing this, he thought, as a strange, thoroughly bizarre numbing sensation began to work its way up from the soles of his feet. He tried to ignore it but couldn't as his arms lost all strength and fell to his sides. His entire self suddenly felt like dead weight. His tongue swelled, his vision swam and blurred.
"Something's wrong! What's wrong with me?!" he said to Kim, or at least tried to say. His thick tongue and dazed condition turned the words into " Smthwrgwasthongwthmmmm" He tried to ask for help, tried to move but his body no longer answered to his commands. The tiny portion of his mind that remained lucid screamed that he'd been drugged. The stew! That hot fantastic tasting stew!
"He—hel…. Wha ddd yyou…" His pathetic attempt to question Kim came to naught. She rose off the bed and stood back, watching clinically as whatever agent she'd administered via his evening meal did its work. Barnes fought back, putting everything he could into the conflict, but to no avail. Inexorably, overriding all his attempts at resistance, his eyes slid shut and he knew no more, succumbed to the effects of the drug.
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
"Mr. Wright, um, I mean Marcus" Brandon Weatherly greeted, "come in. What can I do for you?" Weatherly's attitude was friendly, helpful.
You can stop yanking my chain, Marcus answered silently. Being taken for an easy mark always got his hackles up. Steady, he reminded himself. Go slow. This one's not going to be simple. Like everyone else in the post JD world, this group had lived thru the indescribable. Brandon Weatherly was the man in charge or was at least as far as he and Barnes could tell. Which makes the man very NOT STUPID, so watch it.
"You turned in early" Marcus started, taking a look around. These were obviously Brandon Weatherly's personal quarters, the minor touches which individualized them becoming clear.
"Been a heck of a long day" Weatherly returned, rolling his head and neck in a circle for emphasis. "Wasn't real hungry so I decided I wanted rest more than food or company. What can I do for you?" he asked for a second time.
The hell with it, Marcus concluded mentally. He'd always sucked at small talk anyway and maybe a straight up approach might work better. "You haven't mentioned them. The Resistance troops. We know some of our personnel passed thru Vegas. You must have encountered them just like you did myself and the Colonel, but none have you have mentioned it. I'm just wondering why."
"Guess we were kind of waiting for you to do that" Weatherly answered smoothly. "I was sort of puzzled why neither of you has done it before now. Sure, we talked to your people, brought them here. They got food and rest and moved on. We got the feeling they had work to do, you know what I mean? Like they didn't have time to settle in and shoot the breeze, so we tried not to get in their way, hold 'em up for too long. Does that make sense to you?"
"Yeah, sure it does" Marcus gave back. "It's just that, uh, none of you, this place, nothing was ever mentioned in their dispatches. Your, um, current locale enjoys a certain reputation. Finding you all here, you'd think they would have said something. This is the Area 51. They didn't even say anything about not finding any little green men." Like everyone, he'd heard all the nutty rumors circulated about the mysterious Dreamland. He'd been a criminal and a death row convict, but he hadn't lived under a rock.
Weatherly chuckled appropriately. "Well, they wouldn't have now would they, since there aren't any. Never have been. I always found that funny. Ever since the fifties that crazy business just wouldn't die, no matter what the government said. We always got a big kick out of it. Still do."
So, Marcus pondered expressionless. Don't know about the rest of your crew, but you've been in and out of here a lot over the years, probably since before Skynet fired up the ICBM's. Former base personnel, a scientist maybe? It was possible. Weatherly looked old enough. Keep him talking, Marcus told himself. The more a subject talked, the more they gave away, consciously or not. Living half his first lifetime on the wrong side of the law had given Wright an adeptness at ferreting out other peoples closely held private business.
"No" He corrected, "I mean they never said anything about this place or any of you at all. That wouldn't be like them. Resistance soldiers are trained to notice and report everything. Finding humans taking over Groom Lake, no sign of the machines, that's not something they'd neglect to talk about. So, you can see where there'd be cause for confusion."
"Yes, I can. And, Marcus, forgive me but I can't speak for your people. I wish I could tell you why their communications never mentioned us but I can't, I'm sorry. They certainly should have told you about us and being here, I don't understand why they left it out. There's no light I can shed on it. They were here, they rested and replenished as best they could under the circumstances and then moved on. If it makes you feel any better, they were tightlipped about their origins, their base, everything. Didn't give up anything classified."
It doesn't, Marcus decided. That doesn't make me feel any better at all, Brandon old son. Not one bit. It told him something else though. Brandon Weatherly was a liar, a pretty good one. Marcus knew that because he was lying himself. Not overmuch, but enough to get Weatherly to stick his leg in the trap. The vanished Resistance troops had mentioned being at Area 51, had mentioned the human occupants, and even brought up Brandon Weatherly by name. Then, shortly after that communiqué, each of the platoons had dropped totally off the air, like they'd been swallowed by the Nevada dust and sand. Those alarms of his had abandoned all pretense at decorum and were presently clanging in his head with the ferocity of a five alarm fire bell. Wright was certain. Weatherly and their new 51 friends not only knew what had become of the missing Resistance platoons, but most likely played a big part in it. He and Barnes were hip deep in trouble.
Reminding him eerily of his cell at Longview, Marcus had to admit that the small cramped room he'd been assigned for the night was at least clean. He suspected it had once done time as a supply closet, but elected not to ask. The narrow cot groaned under his weight, but held. Kicking off his boots and jacket, he settled back, folding his hands behind his head, fingers interlocked, staring up at the ceiling.
Talking to Brandon Weatherly had felt like the verbal equivalent of the mine field he and Blair had braved to escape the pissed off Resistance not long enough ago. Cagey and practiced, Marcus found him a challenge to draw out. He spared a fleeting thought for Barnes, no doubt wrapped up in the alluring Kim. Lucky Colonel Barnes. I've got you Brandon. What have you got for me? He replayed the conversation in his mind.
"One thing I got to ask" Wright had said to the other man. "How are you all surviving here? You grow your own food? That meat and the vegetables in the stew, where'd they come from?" he let a touch of admiration color the question. The sentiment wasn't genuine, but Marcus was good enough at the technique to make it seem that way. Guys like Weatherly enjoyed being stroked.
"You might say that. Some of it we grow. But there's other ways of producing what we need" Brandon Weatherly acknowledged cryptically.
"So, you hunt too, huh? Give the tigers some competition?" Marcus prodded.
"Our hunting parties go out periodically." The conveniently supplied explanation was snapped up quickly. Gotcha again, Marcus realized.
You're not as good at this as you think you are Brandon. Wright nodded, pretending to swallow the hook. They weren't supplementing their foodstuffs by hunting. It would need a pretty good supply to feed the forty or so he'd counted since he and Barnes had arrived at Area 51. Taking that much game over a sustained period of time would have attracted Skynet's attention long ago. It would have decided that much drop in the animal population indicated the presence of a human settlement, and the AI had only one protocol for dealing with a concentration of humans. That clearly hadn't happened here. Why not? Why were Weatherly and Kim and his personal favorite, creepy Kayla, and the rest all still alive? For what reason had Skynyet not eliminated them? Although this part of Nevada technically counted as Resistance territory again, the machines retained enough of a foothold to make serious trouble for the humans which were very, very slowly migrating back into the area. Why hadn't Skynet come at the 51'ers with H-K's or sent in T-800's? And how did it all figure in with the missing Resistance units?
"So, how did you come to be here?" Marcus asked, trying to remember to feed his host's ego. "You'd think the machines would be all over."
"They were already cleared out by the time we got here" Weatherly told him. "Nevada resistance took the place back from 'em. That must have been one helluva fight, huh? Kinda wish I'd been around for it."
"Why weren't you? I mean, where were you? How did you survive Judgment Day? Where'd you wait it out until it was safe to come back? No wait, sorry, never mind. That's none of my business." Marcus apologized as if suddenly aware he'd gotten too personal.
"No, it's alright. No big secret" Weatherly reassured him. "I don't mind talking about it. Not like I got anything to hide. Myself and most of these other folks, we all used to either work here or some relative did. You know, mother or father, husband or wife, something like that. People who work in super secret government facilities have families too. Myself, I was a scientist with armaments R&D. How's that for ironic? Imagine our surprise when one day all the computers went haywire and all our clever inventions started turning on us. We should have all died that day, every human here shoulda been stone dead. Only reason we ain't is cause a place like Area 51, well, kinda lends itself to thinking crazy ideas. Those ideas get taken seriously where somewhere else they'd get laughed off or chalked up to paranoia. For instance, what if we screw up and make the machines smarter than we are and they decide they don't need us around anymore? We might just need a way to vamoose out of here real quick. When you work in a place like this, you lay awake at night thinking about stuff like that, you know?" Brandon Weatherly grinned a haunted grin, the look in his eyes taking on a slightly manic gleam. "A bunch of us formed our own uh, private think tank you might say, and came up with a solution. Never really thought we'd be using it, and then one day, there we were, using it. Skynet had a grip on all this for a long time. Resistance fought the machines off, took it away from 'em. Then they were gone too. Wish I could tell you how or why, or what happened to 'em, but I can't. Sorry. Anyways, those of us who were willing, we came back. It's the closest thing to home most of us will ever have again."
A captivating tale, Marcus thought. One that contained enough truth to very nearly hide the lies. Brandon Weatherly, he decided, you missed your calling. Instead of wasting time designing weapons for the government before JD, you should have been a grifter.
He stretched, feigning exhaustion. "I guess the day's finally catching up with me too. There someplace I can sack out for the night? Colonel Barnes and myself, we, um, well not sure what tomorrow's going to be, but we're going to need to get an early start."
"Of course. I'll have someone show you where you can sleep. I, um, think Colonel Barnes has already made other, um, arrangements." Weatherly cleared his throat awkwardly as if embarrassed .
Yeah sure, right, Marcus scoffed, careful not to show it.
An hour later, still awake despite his words to Weatherly, he stared upward, reviewing the conversation, gleaning what intel he could from it.
Running footsteps pounded down the hallway, disturbing his train of thought. Raised voices, agitated in tone further drew his attention. Relieving the bed of his weight, he stood. Tugging on and tying his boots and donning his jacket he walked to the door. He turned the handle only to find himself locked in. When had they done that? And how? And more importantly why?
Later for that. Those agitated voices were growing in number, getting louder and angrier. What was going on? What had happened? Something bad, that was for sure. Marcus's sharp hearing picked up the sound of a quickly muffled scream.
He heard Weatherly's voice talking over the others as they passed Wright's supply closet guest quarters. The volume faded as the passage emptied. Whatever was happening they didn't intend to let him in on it. They probably counted on the locked door keeping him in check. No joy there, Brandon. Under pressure from his cybernetics the lock crumpled like aluminum foil. He strapped the duffel with their supplies and weapons across his back, fixing it securely so any noise it might make would be muffled. With the savoir-fare of someone who'd been both hunter and hunted, he crept after his departed innkeepers.
Drifting along in the wake of the receding voices, Marcus was careful to remain unseen. He checked constantly behind him. Nothing ruined a good sneak like getting caught. The corridor took several sharp turns and led past what had been turned into the latest in after apocalypse apartment living. The former worker cubbyholes were divided into personal space, some with makeshift draping or dividers to provide their dwellers with some semblance of privacy.
The commotion grew more pronounced. Wright slowed, realizing he was getting closer to the epicenter of whatever event had everyone in such an uproar. A short flight of stairs lay in front of him, but if he went down them, he would be visible to those from whom he'd prefer to remain hidden. Crouching so he could look down into the room below, partitioned into more living spaces, he hugged the shadows, glad for their concealing properties. He dialed up his vision and hearing, then wished he hadn't. Taking in the scene, his eyes grew wide with horror and disbelief. Whatever he was expecting to see, it hadn't been this.
The room was in considerable disarray with objects thrown about. In the center of it, sprawled naked on her back arms and legs at odd unnatural angles, Kim Stanley was no longer lovely, she was dead. And not just dead, Marcus realized, she was bloody, messy dead. Covered in smeared crimson from head to toes, her soft brown eyes were glassy with death and her mouth open, as if she'd died pleading in vain for her life. Her blood spattered the walls, painted the floor. Marcus had seen some ugly things in his time. This one made the list.
What made it worse was what else he saw. Sprawled face down next to the body of the murdered woman, no more clothed than she, lay a groaning, groggy Colonel Anthony Barnes. Barely able to lift his head an inch or two from the grimy blood smeared floor, Barnes appeared to be incoherent. Dragged away from Kim and pulled roughly upright, he sagged heavily, eyes rolling back in his head. Slathered in blood, he didn't look wounded or injured in any way that Marcus could see. It might have gone better for him if he had been. Marcus couldn't believe what he saw, didn't want to, but could not deny it. Barnes's right hand and arm were soaked in Kim Stanley's blood up to his elbow, and gripped so tightly in his right hand that the fingers had to be forcibly pried open was what appeared to be the murder weapon, the Colonel's large oft used K-Bar combat knife.
Author's note: Great. Barnes finally meets someone and this has to happen huh? Only been to Vegas once and obviously never to Area 51, but it is fun to speculate about a place we've all heard so much about. Also, the real Area 51 is at least 3 days from Vegas if the trip is by foot, but I shortened the distance for literary purposes. Just go with it. As always, reviews are welcome. Please let me know what you think. See you next chapter.
