Afternoon in the Park
Chemistry finally. It was the lunch block, there wasn't a terminator hanging over his shoulder (despite Cameron's protests that she had to be there to protect John), and John figured now would be as good a time as any. The teacher was running a bit late and John had sat next to Cheri silently for the past few minutes. Though very attractive naturally, Cheri had for some reason decided to be a bit dressier today. She wore a pink tank top with modest straps and a white, flowery dress. She had also applied eye makeup and lip-gloss. Needless to say, John was fixated on her; she looked gorgeous today. He finally broke the silence.
"You look nice," he said, blushing as the words left his mouth. Cheri flashed a quick, nervous smile but that quickly turned to a grimace as she looked at the ground.
"Uh…thanks. I decided to dress up a bit," she replied.
"Yeah. Looks good," John took a deep breath and drummed his fingers on the desk. Damn it, would you say something? How can you even think about being some great leader if you can't even talk to your chemistry partner? He hesitated for a second before he decided to take a dive, "So, what are you up to this weekend?" he asked.
If anyone had seen the look Cheri gave him in reply, they would have thought John told her he was Hitler reincarnated. John noticed this and quickly added, "I'm just…making conversation. I'm probably staying home to help my sister. She got in a car accident yesterday."
Cheri softened a bit and nodded, "Sorry to hear that. Is she alright?"
John shrugged, "banged up a bit. Sprained her arm, got some marks on her neck, but she's in working order."
"Good," Cheri hesitated again, "I'm most likely just doing schoolwork. Maybe I'll go to a movie or something."
The two quieted down as the teacher entered the room. The class was somewhat boring; actually, it was quite boring, but John was mostly spacing out anyway, thinking about what he wanted to say to Cheri. They were in the last lunch block, so that meant a full hour and a half without interruption for food, but John was glad when they were finally released.
"So, you headed to lunch?" John asked as they left class. Cheri rolled her eyes and actually smiled.
"Uh…yeah," she said, "I think we all are, right?"
John nodded, "Right," it was a very dumb question, "Do you mind if I sit with you?"
Cheri shrugged, "It's a free country…"
"Yo, John!" Morris, a short, very odd looking Mexican kid ran up to the future leader of mankind, "Where's Cameron? I've been looking all over for her. You guys weren't in yesterday either."
No surprise there John thought. Morris and Cameron were going to the prom together…John had told her to say yes the day before in order to placate Morris, who was snooping around the car of a gangster that Cameron had just killed and stuffed in the trunk. Morris, on the other hand, a real hormonal guy with no social skills, had been crushing on the beautiful girl/terminator since he saw her.
"Car accident," Cheri said, surprising John, "she's okay though."
Morris stopped short and stuttered a bit, "Damn! I mean…well, dude, why didn't she call me?"
John fought the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, I'm sure the first thing on her mind when that bomb went off was 'I hope I don't worry Morris,' he thought. "I dunno. It wasn't like a huge thing. She just got shaken up a bit and Mom decided to let her stay home," he lied again, though this time, he felt less remorseful about it.
"That sucks. She get banged up?"
"Sprained her arm, got a few cuts, but that's about it," John continued walking toward the cafeteria.
Morris looked thoughtful for a moment, "She didn't get her face scarred up, did she?"
John scowled, but Morris did not seem to notice. "No, her face is fine."
"Good, it would probably suck for her to have her face all messed up before prom," Morris said. John did not take him for an insensitive guy, but he sure did not have any social awareness to speak of. Cheri, on the other hand, seemed horrified at Morris's insensitivity.
"Yeah…I know what you mean. She'd be devastated," John replied, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice, "Hey, I'm headed to lunch now so…"
"Yeah, me too. I'll sit with you guys," Morris invited himself. John restrained himself from showing his annoyance.
Derek's headache had subsided. He had only drank two beers the night before but he had already been dehydrated, so they gave him the effect of a mini-hangover that he was working on getting rid of. So far, a few ibuprofen and about four bottles of water had done a pretty good job. Plus, it felt good to sit in the sun again; he had to get out of that house. Cameron had made a full recovery and got out of bed about an hour earlier, and for whatever reason, she was being very active. Terminators rarely spoke except to blend in, interrogate, or give lengthy, boring explanations about, well, anything, and only moved according to their mission, but the Tin Miss had sat down on the couch next to him despite his protests, began to watch the rerun of Walker, Texas Ranger that Derek had been watching, and kept asking questions about what was happening. Derek, however, hated terminators and so he decided to go to the park, where he knew Cameron would not follow him due to her orders to stay put.
This park had a lot of significance to Derek on the personal level. He and Kyle used to play here all the time. Usually, it was pitch and hit but occasionally they would throw a football around when the NFL season rolled around. Then, there was Judgment Day; all the benches, statues, hot dog stands, and playground equipment, bathed in the sun and covered with drips of ice cream and happy children, were vaporized in an instant. The outlines of bodies were burned into the sidewalks like permanent shadows; others were burned down to their skeletons, frozen in place doing whatever they were doing when the bombs went off, like a dark, gothic painting. Concrete and metal fused together under extreme heat; playground equipment soon became barriers and hiding spots in the battle of the future. Mothers, fathers, and children laughing playing were replaced by cold, cyborg killers flushing humans from their hiding spots to terminate them or capture them for interrogation, experimentation, or labor.
Derek shook the thoughts from his head. This future was still four years off and it was possible to prevent it. Right now, he would finish his Gatorade, enjoy the sun, and admire the pretty college girls as they took a break from classes. That blonde one with te Gucci sunglasses was really hot; the one in the red spaghetti-strap tank top with the bare midriff, pierced navel, and very short shorts. She had to be at least a C-cup, if not a small D. She walked on and Derek noticed she had a butterfly on the small of her back; tramp stamp. Derek knew that women were attracted to him; he'd seen a lot of them glance and giggle both now and in the future. He could get that chick if he wanted…at least for one night…but damn it, he had to "stay off the radar." This was really not good for a man's libido. Oh well, at least he could look.
Then, another woman caught his eye. She looked to be Latina and something else, possibly Persian, Arab, or Armenian. She was dressed in tight miniskirt, high-heeled sandals, and a purple tube top. Her long, silky, raven hair draped over her muscular tanned shoulders, framing a perfect ten face that needed no makeup although she did have some eyeliner. She was a winner; an absolute jawdropper. But that is not why Derek was so fixated on her.
She moved methodically toward Derek, showed no emotion except to offer an occasional artificial smile to the men who checked her out. Derek gripped his Glock 32 tighter as the all too common alert entered his head again: Metal. He felt almost no fear, however. He had been too bitten war to actually fear these things. He hated them. It was not just what they did, it was who they were. They were emotionless, malicious…things that had no right to exist. He began to slowly pull the .357 Sig pistol from his concealed carry holster, taking care to keep his finger straight and away from the trigger. He did this not so much in defense as much as in his desire to destroy the metal. He had armor piercing tungsten bullets that, if he got a perfect shot in the terminator's right eye, could possibly destroy her—its—chip.
She moved closer and closer. Derek had a fleeting regret that she was not a real human because…damn! She was a knockout! But that thought quickly left as she approached. The resistance fighter made sure that he did not make direct eye contact since she perhaps had not identified him. Then, at five feet, he jumped up just as she was distracted by another passerby. Derek too a menacing step forward as he reached for his hidden fire arm, just as the woman turned and bumped into him, chest to chest. Surprised by the sudden appearance, the woman let out a sudden gasp and jumped back, causing Derek's hand to loosen its grip on his Glock.
"Um…sorry, I did not see you there," the woman said, a trace of some kind of accent in her husky voice. Derek just stared for a moment before he caught himself.
"That's alright." He shook his head as the young woman continued on. So she was real? He could have sworn she was metal! The way she moved, her lack of expression, her obvious alertness. But then, she acted surprised, she did seem to have a personality and…maybe he was wrong. But she saw him face to face; but did she see his gun? Derek was not sure. It was a bright, sunny day, there was a lot happening in the park, and…well regardless, he could not take the chance. One life over a possible billion others. If she were eliminated and she was a threat, than fine, if she were eliminated and she was an innocent bystander…her death would not make any difference in the larger scheme of things; she was expendable.
Once the woman was far enough away, Derek began his stalk. He walked casually, not making eye contact with anybody, but directly avoiding it either. All the while, he kept the woman within his view. She seemed to be heading for the parking lot, so he would cut across the small, makeshift soccer fields and get to the Mercedes first, and wait for her to get into her vehicle. Then, tail her wherever she went and, when the opportunity presented itself…
The first round plinked off a park bench behind Derek. Instinctively, he hit the dirt, unholstered his pistol, and looked for the source of the shooting. He looked up to see a grim faced, black man with dreadlocks pointing a Desert Eagle pistol at him. A thunderclap-like report shattered the air as the terminator fired another shot, narrowly missing Derek, kicking up a small cloud of dirt in front of him. Screams of horror from the quickly panicked park visitors joined the gunshots like a chorus as they began to run around in chaos.
"I keep saying it. There just is not enough gun control in this stupid state!" some angry middle aged man in a suit yelled as he gathered his briefcase and began to run.
Derek targeted the terminator's eye and squeezed off a shot. The .357 round hit the cyborg just above the bridge of his nose, tearing away a flap of skin and creating a small dent in the endoskeleton. The bullet was designed to pierce armor, but that mostly applied to soft, Kevlar vests without ballistic plates. Still, it did not shatter on the coltan skeleton like a regular full metal jacket or hollow point would have, and it caused the terminator to flinch for a second. Derek fired another round, this one hitting a little closer to the eye, but once again, it did not penetrate; it was a pistol round and did not have the energy to do so.
Immediately, Derek jumped to his feet and began to fall back, firing quickly but precisely at the terminator's head. Suddenly, the loud snaps from the Glock were joined by a deep boom from the .50 caliber magnum wielded by the cyborg. Derek felt a tug at his leg, causing him to lose his balance and fall. However, he felt not pain and immediately stood up as another bullet exploded from the now advancing terminators gun. Without thinking, he took off in the direction of his car as another half-inch ball of copper and lead sliced the air past his head. Derek turned and fired a triple tap at the right eye of the terminator. All three rounds hit their mark, but none of them did anything to slow down the murderous robot.
"What the hell is going on?" a woman shouted to her husband as they took cover behind their car.
"Hell if I know! Probably some gang war or something!" the man yelled back, "Shut up and get down! They're probably not looking for…" He was cut off as Derek slid down next to them. "Shit!" the man yelled as he and his wife scrambled to get away.
"Get on the ground and stay there!" Derek ordered, "I'm one of the good guys!" He fired another shot as the terminator continued his pursuit, returning fire with his hand cannon. It could only be described as an act of God that none of the lethal rounds hit him. Breaking into an all out sprint, he finally hit the car at full speed, rolling his body over to the driver's side as another round tore off the rearview mirror. Derek fired the last three rounds of his magazine at the terminators head before pulling open the door and diving in. It was difficult, but he did manage to get the keys in the ignition and start the car, but no sooner had it pulled out of the parking space at ramming speed toward the cyborg, than another shot was fired…this time right into the engine block, immediately causing a spurt of oil to coat the windshield. The vehicle made an awful grinding noise and stopped just in front of the terminator, who was in the process of reloading his weapon. Derek did the same.
Suddenly, the terminator was knocked from his feet as if he had been hit with a wreaking ball. Derek turned to see a familiar face, though it was twenty years younger. The man he knew as General Ellison was standing by his Ford Escape with a Remington 870 pump action 12 gauge shotgun, it's barrel still smoking from the round Ellison had fired. The future resistance officer racked another round into the chamber. Ellison squeezed the trigger and fired off another round at the cyborg, forcing it down to the pavement as Derek ran toward him.
"Get in!" Ellison yelled just as Derek did so. Before the terminator could get up again, Ellison fired another shotgun blast at it, then handed the weapon back to Derek so that he could drive. On instinct alone, Derek cycled the weapon again and fired a blast at the terminators head. The metal killer's neck snapped back and his body collapsed. Ellison's eyes went wide.
"Did you actually kill that thing?" he asked in disbelief.
"Probably not," Derek replied, rolling up the window, "It's probably just rebooting. We'll be far enough away once it gets up," he wiped some sweat from his forehead, "Thanks a lot, sir."
Ellison smiled, "No problem. I'm Agent James Ellison with the FBI. Sarah said you would be down here. I'm glad I started carrying my shoty around since I saw what these terminators can actually do."
Derek nodded, "I know who you are. You're going to be one of the top commanders for the resistance. I saved your ass in 2026 so…I guess we're even now."
"Um…" Ellison did not know what to say, "Cool."
"So what was the reason behind this attack? I would have figured that they would want me alive to lead them to John," Derek asked. Yes, generally speaking, terminators did just kill, but they were assassins more than anything, and they killed point targets mostly.
"Hell if I know," Ellison said, "I just came over to talk about all the stuff that's happened so I can get a better idea of what to do. Since you're from the future, you're our best resource. Dr. Schwartz's memory starts only at his reprogramming, and the same goes for that one you guys call Cameron. Plus, they're…well, computers. We need your knowledge since you've been there, done that from before Judgment Day to when you were sent back."
Derek nodded, "Alright, let's get back as soon as possible."
Back at the park, the woman in the purple top, Azadah Saberi, put her HK P7 pistol away and drove off, swearing to herself. Goddamned metal bastards! Everything was going according to plan, than that thing barged in. They could have had everything over with by the end of the week.