For John Connor, life had been filled with some surreal days. In fact, his resume read like some sort of action film actor's. But it was all real, a point driven home by all the death he had witnessed lately, especially those he had cared deeply for.
He had been hunted by and destroyed cyborgs. He had worked with cyborgs. He had been hunted by and killed humans. He had blown up buildings and particpated in car chases. And he had traveled in time. Twice. All before his seventeenth birthday.
But this day took the prize, as he was first introduced to Weaver, who had disappeared, then Derek and Kyle, and finally, the mystery girl. All in the span of 10 minutes.
Now, all eyes were on John. He was so overwhelmed, all he could think to do was to fold his arms and crouch. He exchanged questioning glances with the three of them. Words would come to his lips, but he couldn't find the breath to speak.
Derek finally broke the silence.
"All right, kid," he barked. "Who are you? Where did you come from? What are you doing here?"
John hesitated, but only for an instant. They won't believe me if I tell them the truth, His mother had told him when they saved Derek from the gunshot wound, "Derek can't know you're Kyle's son. You never trusted anyone enough to tell them about Kyle!"
But John always believed in telling the truth. It helped secure trust, something in short supply at the moment. He settled on a compromise between his mother's advice and his intuition.
"The machines left me here," John answered, looking his questioner right in the eye, hoping Derek wouldn't pick up on the half-truth. To Derek, the machines were the enemy—Skynet and the terminators. To John, there were two camps of machines—one enemy, one ally.
"Why?" Derek pressed. "Where were you being held?"
"Century City," John answered, quickly, briefly locking eyes with the mystery girl as he spoke. He remembered when Cameron had told him all the information she had on Kyle, and Century City was some sort of labor camp that he and Kyle had escaped from. Or will escape from.
"They were interrogating me," he continued. "They drugged me, took all of my clothes and left me here. I don't…."
"If the machines had you," Derek replied, accusingly, as he twisted John's left forearm into view, "Why didn't they mark you?" He was referring to the UPC-like code prisoners of Skynet typically get branded with. Good old Derek. He remembered how little he trusted Cameron too.
"I don't know," John said. "Maybe they didn't think I was a threat."
"No one's a threat to them," Kyle answered dryly. If only he knew. "Just a number."
"What did they press you on," Derek continued.
"How many of us there are, where we are," John answered, shrugging his shoulders. It was all fictitious, but he tried to think what he would ask a captured enemy soldier. "What type of weapons we had."
Derek glared at him and glanced around at the others. "So what did you tell them?"
"I told them nothing," John answered, stone faced, matching Derek's glare. He was careful to look him in the eye while he answered. "Because I only met you today."
"You seemed to recognize me," Derek countered. He was good. No detail was too small.
"You definitely resemble my uncle," John replied. Just a little. It was the first truthful thing he had uttered. "But I was wrong, obviously."
"Your uncle was named Derek too?" Derek said, unconvinced.
"Small world," John answered.
"Too small," Derek corrected. John had to get him off this line of questioning.
"I was alone, searching for survivors. Skynet destoyed our camp. My family's dead…" John said, his voice trailing off. He held his stare with Derek for a second and then bowed his head, as if in reverence of the dead. He was hoping they would buy the tale, so he sadly recalled recent events to conjure up some emotion. In particular, he lamented the deaths of Riley Dawson, Charley Dixon and older Derek, three that really meant a lot to him.
"I think I'm the only one that escaped," John said, as a tear rolled down his cheek.
"Where was your camp?" Kyle interrupted.
"Santa Clarita," John said, wiping the tear away, sniffling through the heartache. They had resided in Santa Clarita since the Sarkissian incident, so he a least knew that area a little. He hoped it had been far enough from the worst of the nuclear devastation, far enough to believe someone had survived. He also remembered the park where Derek had taken him on his birthday last year, in North Hollywood. Presumably, the Reeses resided there.
"We don't know anyone from Santa Clarita," Derek replied, right back into it. It was classic good cop, bad cop.
"Well, you do now," John replied.
"How long were you there," Kyle asked.
"For a few years," John started, "We used to live in New Mexico, but moved here a few years…."
"He means Century City, dumb ass," Derek said. "How long did Skynet hold you?"
"I don't know," John said, growing weary of his uncle's scrutiny. But he suddenly saw a loophole. "What day is it?"
"It's Wednesday," Kyle said softly. "April 21st."
"April 21st," John repeated, contemplating the meaning of the date. John looked at Kyle as a doubtful student would an omniscient professor.
"Today's the tenth anniversary of the war," Kyle responded somberly.
"Judgment Day," John added, more to himself than to anyone. Tenth anniversary? John calculated it was the year 2021, unless J-Day had changed, and there was no reason to think it had.
"Judgment Day?" Derek chided. "You come up with that by yourself, kid?"
"No," John answered. "I think I heard my mother use it first." Another truth.
"So how long?" Derek came back.
"Not long," John managed. "We were attacked on Sunday night."
"Well, I think that's quite enough, Derek, don't you?" Kyle said. "I'm hungry, and, more importantly, cold," Kyle added, eyeing the jacket that John had absconded.
With the cue from his brother, Derek finally eased up on his interrogation of John, at least temporarily. It was long enough for everyone to catch their breath. And for John to ask Kyle for some actual clothes.
Kyle led him to a small room loaded with various items—canned food, water, batteries, assorted tools, medical supplies, clothes and a hundred other things you could associate with human existence. Scavenging in the post apocalyptic nightmare would virtually have to be a daily task, John thought morbidly.
"Don't worry so much about Derek," Kyle said reassuredly. "He's our leader and he takes his role seriously. He's worried about the group's safety, so he doesn't trust anybody he doesn't know."
"I know the type," John said. I know the type all too well. John then slipped on some jeans, a white T-shirt, and a gray hoodie. The accoutrements were a little baggy, but he wasn't about to complain.
"Trust isn't handed out, it's earned," John added, handing the coat back to Kyle. Offering his hand, he added, "I'm John Connor."
Kyle wasn't sure what it was, but the newcomer had a certain quality about him. His eyes had a strength about them and his words carried passion and conviction. Was he ready to trust him? Give it some time.
Kyle took John's hand firmly. "Kyle Reese. Pleased to meet you, John."
Kyle had no idea and couldn't possibly know that John had yearned all of his life to have this conversation. Another surreal moment for John.
John used the pause in their conversation to try on some black sneakers. Again, a little big, but better than the opposite.
John and Kyle left the supply room to join the others in the meeting room where John had been "captured." Derek was talking to the balance of the group.
"But he called you by name," said one. It was the same one that had leveled the gun at John's head. It wasn't until now that John realized that the "soldier" was clearly younger than John, an Asian, barely in his teens, if at all, probably scared out of his wits.
"Kin, I've never seen him before in my life," Derek said, shrugging his shoulders. He glanced back over his shoulders to see John and Kyle returning.
"All right, listen up," Derek said, in a markedly more authoritative voice. "It will be dark in two hours, and now we have another mouth to feed." With that prompt, the group as one threw an accusing glare at John.
Thanks a lot, Uncle Derek.
"Let's have the same scavenging group as yesterday, plus one," Derek barked. "That means you, John Connor. It's time for you to earn your keep—you're going too."
"You can impress me by not getting yourself or anyone else killed," Derek added dryly, as he sat on one a chair and began unlacing his boot. "And by finding me some chocolate."
John nodded grimly and moved over toward the entrance of the room, following Kin's gesture. Each of the members of the scavenging party was hoisting a backpack over his or her shoulders, presumably to carry back the supplies they found.
Kyle was about to join them when Derek stopped his brother short and gently pulled on his suspenders until Kyle's ear was level with his mouth.
"Keep an eye on him," Derek warned. "Skynet may be tracking."
"No worries," Kyle said, as he cocked his Beretta and joined the others.