Chapter Four

Follow the Leader

Derek sprinted up the stairs, automatic ready. It had only taken him about half an hour to find Sarah and tell her what was going on. Once that was done, they had gone back to the car and driven to the safe house. Derek was turning a corner when he'd heard gunshots. His foot had slammed the pedal down amidst Sarah's shouts that John was in danger.

They had shot around the corner and raced towards the safe house. People everywhere were running for the safety of homes and away. John and Cameron weren't in sight, and neither was the T-1001.

Derek hadn't even bothered to find a parking spot. Their vehicle had stopped in the middle of the street and turned off, as if it would ward off strangers. His race towards the building against Sarah and his own fear had been the fastest he'd ever run in a long time. He smashed through the door, barely bothering with the lock. Once it was unlocked, he kicked open the door and pointed his gun ahead.

It was empty. Derek moved further in to check the rooms. Sarah behind him shut the door and scanned the main room. Everything was practically untouched. Moving step by step, her eyes crossed over the apartment again. One or two weapon crates were opened, the medical table had one or two dust prints, but nothing stood out. Derek came out from the side rooms and shook his head. They hadn't even been in there.

"What happened then?" Sarah asked. "You don't think he would have tried to fight it?"

"No, I talked him out of it. And as much as I hate it, Cameron didn't want him to, either," Derek answered, searching through weapon crates.

"I know she's a machine, but she does have John's safety in mind," Sarah argued. "I trust her, to a degree. She's been more protective of him since she flipped. And if she stays that way, I'll continue to trust her."

If only you knew, Derek thought sourly. He didn't like it. His footsteps stopped at the desk. Someone had sat at the computer and typed. Warily Derek poked the screen with his gun barrel, to make sure it wasn't wired to explode. Since it didn't, it had to be John who had used it. "John had been at the computer."

Sarah walked over to where Derek was staring at the computer screen. She herself didn't have any clue how to check what John might have been up to on the computer. She glanced at the mouse; she decided against using it in case she shut it down. "Do you know how to track what people did on a computer?" Sarah asked.

Derek gave her a sideways look. "I fought machines, not played with them," he answered dryly. Both stared menacingly at the computer, frustrated by its apparent complexities and hoping anger would make the computer magically give up the answers. It sat there, and Sarah could have sworn that it was mocking them, even though it couldn't think for itself. Or could it? She didn't know.

Shouldering his automatic, Derek showed an intense amount of bravery and attempted to use the computer. Sarah watched the screen as he gingerly moved the mouse, watching the pointer move as well. "What's the extent of computers?" Derek asked. "There's a search button here. Maybe it can find John."

"I don't know; try," Sarah offered. She hadn't used the Internet before, if that was what it was. Yes, it was; it said so in the corner. If she wasn't trying to find John, she would have him do it. It drove her crazy to think that he could be anywhere, doing anything. Cameron better have him thinking rationally.

She couldn't stand there patiently while Derek pecked John's name into the box with his index fingers. Impatient, Sarah went to do another search of the apartment. John had to have left something behind, even if by accident. Derek at the computer made a series of complaints as the computer failed to give him John's location.

Then Sarah noticed John's note on the kitchen counter. How either of them had missed it was beyond her. However, she admitted she had been looking more for was something indicating John's health. She picked it up and recognized her son's handwriting. Hopefully that meant he was alive. Her eyes scanned over his letters.

"You idiot!" Sarah screamed at the paper, causing Derek to leap out of the seat with his automatic ready.

"What?" he asked warily. Sarah held the note up for him to see.

"This sucks," John muttered. He tapped the tire with his foot. Next to him, Cameron was analyzing whether he would be bruised later. She unconsciously sighed in relief when her processes figured out he would be fine. However, she agreed with his statement.

They had gotten twenty miles on the highway before the truck had run out of fuel. John was muttering about how it was his fault and luck that they had 'escaped' in the one vehicle that was running on fumes. She disagreed; she should've scanned the vehicle first.

"What do you want to do?" she asked. They could either sneak back around the T-1001, which was certainly hunting them, or continue on towards the other city with the professor at the university. She silently hoped for the first option, although she knew that even without her mission and orders, she would lovingly follow him through a black hole.

"Keep going," John answered. He gestured around them. "This entire area is forest between both cities. We could get there on foot through these trees. It would have a harder time tracking us."

"We will have to keep moving," Cameron warned, grabbing her shotgun. "The tracking difficulty will not be increased significantly enough to lose it." John strapped both handguns to his waist. He touched her cheek with his non-gloved hand.

"Well, let's put some distance," John grinned, and ran out into the trees. Cameron followed him silently. They ran silently, John slipping into a thoughtless void, his brain zoning out as he ran. It wasn't hard for him to lose track of everything; it happened when he ran. His brain just stopped thinking, and he could go on forever. This was one skill he had always prided himself on: the ability to run endlessly.

His mother had never been able to explain John's sudden infinite stamina when it came to running, nor his clear thinking. She counted both as a blessing, something she would never have to worry about teaching John. He had already mastered it. And in her world of Survival 101, 102, 202, and 1010, she had never run out of things to teach John. John had been proud to be able to master skills his mother never dreamed of, such as actually being able to use a computer.

In the beginning, he'd also been proud to show his mother the result of her teaching and training. The first time he stripped a rifle by himself before she could turn around from watching the window, she had been so proud of him John had never wanted anything else. She was overjoyed anytime he did something; it meant her son would survive. It had also made her sad, for a reason John had never known then. It crushed her to be teaching her son war tactics at the age of eight. Yet she had to.

Then his pride in such skills was broken when his mother was taken away. John became angry, not at his mother, but for the world taking away the mother who had taught him everything and been proud when he showed that he had learned. His skills became spite, a thorn in the world to punish it for what it had taken from him. His anger had peaked to the point when he was angry with his mother for being unable to escape and save him.

Then the T-888 had come, and saved his life. Suddenly John found himself desperately relying on everything his mother had taught him. His pride and love in her was restored. That was what made him save her. He had lost her to a heartless world once; he didn't want to lose her to what she'd trained him against. And then there had been the T-888 itself, which had never criticized John for his skills, like the world had, or told him they were useless and that he needed help.

In fact, the Terminator had even commended John occasionally for what he did. It would point out what he had done correctly and incorrectly, explaining how to do it better when he asked. It had taught him much like his mother. Maybe that's why it was one of the best fathers he'd had, and why he hated to let it go; not only had its sacrifice been in vain, it had been one of the few up to that time who taught him and cared about what he learned.

Then there had been Charlie, and now Cameron and Derek. Oddly enough, he didn't think he had learned much from Cameron or Derek; they were close because Derek his uncle and because he loved Cameron. What could he learn from either—?

John's thought was interrupted when his nervous system warned him that his legs were about to stop working. However, his nerves must have been drunk, because the warning got to him after his legs gave out. However, once more, Cameron was there to scoop him up snugly in her arms. "You're tired," she noted.

"Now that you say so, yeah," John panted. He became aware of sweat rolling down his face and arms, and the heavy fast heartbeat in his chest. He had never been this tired from running before. He could see the afternoon sun in the branches. How fast had he been going? Had he unconsciously been sprinting? "How far did we get?"

Cameron seemed hesitant to tell him the answer, and John knew something was wrong. He dearly hoped that it wasn't caused by his exposure; that stunt was screwing him up from the inside and outside at the same time. "Cameron, how far did we get?" John asked again.

Her processes had no trouble computing the exact distance, but she took the time to simplify it for John. The simplification took a microsecond and a half. "Three quarters of a mile," she admitted. She knew right away that John was upset and shocked; his jaw dropped open. She had seen and heard about how he had run nearly like a Terminator in endurance; now he fell after running not even a mile.

"Three quarters," he repeated under his breath. He stood up with her help. "We're not done," he stated firmly. Her John was having a John thing.

"You cannot," Cameron objected. "You are not strong enough."

"Yes I am," John denied stubbornly. "I can run all the way there."

"No you can't." Something was activating in her emotion simulator.

"I'm more than capable of running this," he insisted, preparing to try.

"John Connor!" Cameron snapped, grabbing him by his triceps. "You are not running anywhere!" Something close to anger was running through her. "You will walk until I say you can run, because I refuse to have to hurt yourself!"

Her nose was inches from his. Through the autonomous anger-like emotion, she could see pure surprise in his eyes. The emotion died instantly. Cameron let go of John and backed away, her processes freezing trying to understand what was wrong. Had she been angry and yelling at him? She loved him; why would she yell at him? Desperately her processes tried to come up with a diagnosis. Fry her emotion simulator.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, feeling ashamed and guilty now. Meanwhile ninety-eight percent of her chip tried to find out why she had been angry with the person she loved and why that had been possible. "I should not have yelled."

John reacted better than her. "No, you're right," he assured. "I should be more careful with my condition and issues." He still appeared surprised and wary by her actions. Cameron wasn't so certain of her ability to protect John anymore. What if she accidentally hurt him next time?

The future savior of humanity seemed to recognize her discomfort and pain. He offered her his hand. Tentatively Cameron accepted it. He pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead, on her cheek, and then on her lips. Once she was calmed, they walked hand in hand further into the foliage. Cameron was never more grateful for John helping her overcome her own errors.

"That does sound like John," Derek grumbled. "Damn." He wanted to blame the metal, but he didn't need more trouble. John had gone to a physics professor? What for? Luring the metal, that sounded reasonable and rational, but what did a physics professor have to do with it? Was he a creator of Skynet or something?

"We need to go after John," Sarah ordered immediately. "He's in danger and not thinking straight." This is the one thing Cameron wouldn't have stopped him, either; her over protectiveness meant she followed him everywhere. If she hadn't been a machine, Sarah would've thought it something else, but fortunately Cameron was just a machine. Sarah often mumbled it several times a day, even though she trusted the machine.

"We need help," Derek argued. "He's luring a T-1001. I'm going to bother describing this nightmare metal to you; you know what it is. It's a monster. To try to save John from it by ourselves is suicide. At least Cameron can keep him away from it. To take it down, we need help."

"And where do you suggest we get help while my son is out there being hunted?!" Sarah shouted back. Derek counted to five to keep his temper.

"I know where some Resistance fighters might be," Derek explained. "They might have electric charges, lethal to metals. We should go find them."

"You said might both times. Even if they're there, they might not have them, which means we wasted time," Sarah countered.

"Well it's not like we're going to stop a bloody T-1001 with assault rifles!"

"We won't with mythological people either!"

"I still say we go after the Resistance fighters," Derek stated, keeping himself controlled. He flashed something in her face. "And since I have the keys, we're doing this my way." He turned around to walk out the door and end the argument before one of them threw punches. He might have been the first.

Suddenly an arm wrapped around his neck while a hand shoved a wet cloth into his face. Derek panicked as he unwillingly took in the overpowering smell. He tried to yank Sarah off him but she held firm. Derek tried to run backwards into a wall. Sarah grunted with the impact. He started to try again, but the ammonia was overpowering him. He fell to the ground before hitting the wall and passed out.

Sarah waited a moment before removing the ammonia-treated cloth. It had been overreacting, she admitted, but she was not going to wait to save her son. Tucking away the cloth and ammonia spray, she threw her gun over her shoulder. Derek wasn't the lightest person around; it would take effort to get him out to the car.

First, she fished the keys from his hand. Then she grunted and slung his unconscious body over her shoulder. It took time to carry him out to the vehicle, but when it came to protecting John, she would carry the world. Although, the world probably didn't smell as bad as Derek's armpits.