Author's Note: I've finished writing this fic, and parts - now ten through thirteen - will be posted weekly, usually on Friday or Saturday, until completion. Thanks to everyone that is still reading :)

A word on Sarah Connor Chronicles: While it's an enjoyable series and I watch it, events it makes canon were not and will not be considered in this fic. At all. Sorry to disappoint if anybody was expecting Derek to pop out of the rubble at some point.

"Just stay behind me. Keep walking, but stay behind me, okay?"

Kyle nodded, knowing that his father probably couldn't see the movement but being too afraid to actually speak.

"… valley … shadow … death," someone was whispering behind, hissing the same words over and over again, but Kyle couldn't make out what he was saying exactly.

He swallowed roughly and licked his dry lips. He didn't remember when the last time he drank anything. Water, especially clean water, was always scarce, but his family had never been this long without it before.

Mini-HKs buzzed around their heads, keeping them in an orderly line as they continued their slow progression into the camp. Despite the fact that their numbers were well into the hundreds, it seemed that the band of human prisoners was not enough of a threat for terminators or HK tanks to be guarding them.

The thought of running crossed his mind, not for the first time, but he quickly dismissed it once more. His feet hurt and, if they weren't bleeding already, they soon would be. He glanced sidelong at his mother, who looked miserable, disheveled, and more scared than he had ever seen her. Blood still stained her shirt, loose fitting now that she was no longer pregnant, but it seemed, to Kyle's relief, to have dried. He could make out the form of his newborn sister, still swaddled inside his mother's shirt. Either the machines hadn't noticed her yet or they just didn't care.

They reached the front of the camp and came to a jolting stop. Kyle peered around his father to see a surprisingly small machine processing station. A rough claw was forcing his father's hand into some device, and his father was flinching at the contact, but otherwise not struggling. His spine did stiffen, though, as the machine emitted a harsh whirl. A second or two later, his father withdrew his arm, now red and blistered.

Kyle instinctively stepped back, not wanting to place his hand anywhere near that thing. The HKs immediately hovered closer, to within a breath's distance, and a gentle push from his mother set him forward.

He didn't give the claw the pleasure of forcing his hand anywhere, though, and thrust his whole arm into the device. There was a rush of fierce cold, stinging straight into his bones. Then there was heat, so hot that he could have sworn his flesh was being melted off. He tried to pull away, letting out a sharp bark of a scream while doing so, but the machine kept its grip.

After what seemed like minutes, he was released. He stumbled forward to join his father, but his eyes never left his arm. It was red like he had merely been burnt, yet, when he looked closer, he noticed dark black lines running across the inside of his forearm.

"Barcodes," his father growled as his sisters passed through. "The bastards think we're inventory."

"What?" Kyle asked, seeking clarification. His mother went through, doing a pretty good job of concealing the baby underneath the folds of the blanket draped around her shoulders. Kyle sighed in relief when the claw moved onto the person behind her without making a grab for the baby.

"They want to track us, keep us in order," his father said. "Come on, we need to keep moving." His eyes wandered protectively over the lump in his wife's folds, but he didn't linger on it.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil!" the man that was behind them previously finally shouted out. He, older than either of Kyle's parents, looked frail and weak. He backed up quickly, unbalanced, into the people behind him. They shuffled aside as the HKs honed in, not wanting to get involved or in the way. "This is the devil's work! Creatures of Satan! How can you stand there and be branded by his servants? Save your souls!"

Somebody in the line pushed him away as the HKs begun to circle him. He fell forward but quickly crawled to his feet. The HKs attacked, piercing him with blue plasma. He jaunted forward, past the bar-coding machine, and wobbled towards Kyle.

Kyle backed away, but a few plasma shots to the man's back had knocked him the extra few feet needed to slam into Kyle. They tumbled into the muddy ground, Kyle squirming against the dead weight.

And that's all the man really was now, dead, for he was no longer breathing. Kyle hissed in fear and shock as he felt the warm blood from the man's wounds covering him.

"Getemoffme!" he screamed, desperately trying to push the corpse away. His father was there instantly, rolling the body off of him, and granting him just enough room to escape. Kyle crawled out, and into the waiting arms of his father, who was now crouched next to him.

Kyle breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes all too soon for, when he opened them, he saw a blinding blanket of red. The HKs circled them now, preparing to fire.

"But we didn't do anything!" his father was fruitlessly pleading, as if the machines could understand him.

Kyle closed his eyes again, this time in fear, but the shot never came.

Instead a baby started crying.

"You need to stop doing that," Jacobson hissed as he opened his eyes. "You scream loud enough and the machines will find us, night or not."

"He can't help his dreams," he heard Clark say as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Is it night, then?" he asked, noting that the only light in the room was coming from Clark's flashlight. He remembered being able to see the slight hint of sunlight down the hall when he had taken his watch shift at noon.

"Yep," Clark answered. "We need to get going."

Kyle nodded in agreement, hoping that the movement would clear out the last remnants of the dream. His sister had died that day, all because his panicked scream had made her cry.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Clark asked after they left the shelter and picked up their trail from last night. Had it not been for the fact that they were being chased, Kyle would have almost berated himself for how obvious they had been last night. Small wonder the machines out this morning weren't able to track them down. "Reese?"

He merely glanced at her, putting all of his annoyance into one single expression. She furrowed her forehead in return. When did he ever want to talk about it? Clark was nice, but sometimes Kyle found her persistence grating.

"Fine," she said shortly, clearly hurt.

They had run farther than he had expected last night and, after ten minutes of walking in silence, they hadn't yet happened upon their wagon. Kyle took a moment to again be irritated at Jacobson. Was it so hard to run without tripping over anything? Sure, the boy was fast, but what good would that do when he couldn't keep his balance? He was a piss poor fighter, too, and practices with Perry were beginning to show it. Even Clark, smaller and slower, could take him down without much effort.

"I think we should look for a new third when we get back," he said seriously.

"Reese! No! How can you say that?" Clark cried. "He made a mistake. It was dark. Either one of us could have done the same thing. How would you feel if we decided to ditch you after you fell and hurt yourself?"

"After making you carry me back to the bunker, I'd understand," he told her flatly.

"Jeez, and I thought Jacobson was mean," she said, sighing. "No. He's too good with dismantling, anyway. I doubt you could suggest someone better, so get over it."

He favored her with a dirty look but said nothing.

"Hey," he said a few moments later, pausing them both in their trek. "Where is it?"

"Huh?"

"The wagon. This is the spot, but it's not here." He glanced around, taking in the familiar layout of the area, noting with some dejection that the terminator shells they had been working on last night were now picked completely clean. Wolfy jumped forward to investigate, sniffing around the place.

"Are you sure?" Clark asked, probably hoping that he was mistaken. "Man," she continued after a moment of realization. "Someone took it. This mess just keeps getting better and better by the minute. What are we going to do now?"

Assuming that the wagon was long gone, Kyle's mind kicked in to motion, formulating and equally dismissing a few plans. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he almost didn't see Wolfy reach a nearby ledge and back away slowly, whimpering.

"What is it, boy?" Kyle called softly. If it were a terminator or anything else mechanical, the dog would already be steadily barking, but something was clearly bothering him nevertheless.

"It would be me, I assume," came a harsh, familiar voice. Kyle stilled, hoping Clark would do the same, as a dark and menacing man came out of the shadows. He was armed with a shotgun, much like Connor's, which was slung over his shoulder. He was even filthier than Kyle remembered, but that was never saying much out here.

"Kaezar?" Kyle said questioningly as the old trader's body came completely into view.

"Do I know you, kid?" he asked roughly, narrowing his eyes as if inspecting the two children.

"You dealt in my bunker, you–" Kyle began.

"Yeah, right, the pink thing," Kaezar interrupted, motioning towards the handkerchief still decorating Clark's head. "You gave it to your girlfriend. Cute." Despite the words, his voice held no amusement. Wolfy, now having returned to Kyle's side, took a venturous step forward. "And the mutt, who could forget the mutt?"

"Did you take our wagon?" Clark spoke up accusingly. She looked secure and demanding, but, having known her for as long as he did, Kyle could see the hints of fear in her voice.

"What, that old thing?" the trader asked mockingly. "Didn't look like you needed it anymore. If you wanted to keep it, you should have taken it with you."

"Look," Kyle said before Clark could react. "We are really glad to see you. One of our friends is hurt and we need to get back to the bunker. Can you help us?" Traders knew these fields almost as well as the salvagers. Home should be a quick ride away, as many of them usually had cars.

"Help you," Kaezar repeated, putting his left hand on his hip. "Nah, I don't think so." Kyle felt his throat tighten as Kaezar's men came out of the shadows one by one. "See, we had a little run in with Connor a few weeks back, and the bastard kicked us out. Since then we've been freelance. Literally."

The traders-turned-thieves surrounded them, closing in.

"Everything valuable we have is in this bag," Kyle admitted, taking the backpack off of his shoulder. He offered it out to the closest thief, holding it at arm's length.

"I'll keep that in mind," Kaezar said, but his man made no move to grab the pack. "Unfortunately, the most valuable thing you have is … well, you."

"What are you going to do to us?" Clark whimpered, no longer bothering to hide her fear.

"This and that," Kaezar said. "You'll see."

Kyle didn't hesitate in letting go of the bag and reaching for the knife still strapped to his side. One of the thieves came forward, aiming a gun directly at him and causing him to halt mid movement.

"Be smart," Kaezar warned as the barrel neared Kyle's face.

Kyle grunted angrily at his defeat, but dropped the knife all the same.

"Good," Kaezar said, smirking triumphantly. "Jim, tie 'em up."

"What about the other one, the one they said was injured?" another man asked as 'Jim' bound their hands with coarse twine.

Clark hissed as the rope cut into her flesh, but Kyle merely kept his angry gaze focused on Kaezar. Panic was pushing at the edges of his emotions, but he didn't let it take control. Fury was so much more useful in these sorts of situations. Not that he had ever found himself in quite this level of dire straights before.

"Leave him," Kaezar said. "We don't need no hurt kid slowing us down. Two's enough."

Jim yanked when the binds were done, drawing both of them forward in one swift pull. They stumbled and Clark almost fell, but they both managed to stay standing.

"Strong stock. Good. Let's go."

"Better and better," Kyle mumbled when he caught Clark's eye. She bit her lip, clearly trembling.

As the men began to leave, they followed immediately to keep slack on the ropes and their hands free from pain.

Ignoring the fear, the sheer panic and hopelessness, Kyle did his best to plot an escape.