Author's Note: I'm back. ;) Enjoy this chapter! I think there will only be a few more, but no worries. There's still plenty of action and angst to be had. Enjoy!
The hollow sound of John's combat boots slapping against the concrete floor echoed off the walls of the miserable, dimly lit passageway. He rounded a sharp corner and came to a sudden stop as he saw what was around the corner.
A Terminator, a rather battle-damaged one that was only partially covered with chunks of flesh, held Kate by the throat a few feet off the ground.
John leapt forward into a sprint, brandishing his plasma rifle as he ran. He slammed a power cell magazine into it and John felt it warming up in his fingers. John had put on a tremendous burst of speed, but he wasn't going anywhere. The hallway seemed to be elastic and was stretching longer and longer. The Terminator and Kate were getting farther and farther out of reach.
Kate was desperately clawing at the Terminator's metal fingers, trying to break their vice-like grip on her throat. Kicking her feet frantically, her boots were only clanking off the Terminator's thighs uselessly. She gulped for air, but her eyes only got wider as the seconds dragged on.
John was panicking now. He could feel the cold sweat rolling down his back in icy rivulets. John raised his plasma rifle and locked onto the Terminator, but he couldn't fire without lethally burning Kate.
John watched through the scope of the plasma rifle as Kate's feet slowly stopped kicking and her hand fell limp across the Terminator's wrist. Her auburn hair fell over her glassy eyes.
The Terminator threw the flaccid Kate violently to the ground. Her legs were entangled with each other and her left arm was bent awkwardly.
"Kate! No! You-"
John roared with anguish as he pulled the trigger and slammed the Terminator with a pulse of plasma that melted joints and blew off fingertips. The Terminator swayed on its feet, but still the Terminator endured. It was approaching John, it's red eyes narrowed to pinpricks of self-awareness that burned with the intense hatred of man and the desire to crush John Connor and everything he stood for.
John tried to back peddle, but his feet were sinking into the concrete floor like quick sand. The concrete floor was swallowing his feet. John tried frantically to fire his plasma rifle, but it was jammed and sinking into the floor. Out of the corner, he saw Kate; still limp on the floor. Still out of his reach… Enraged and charged with altruism, John lunged in an attempt to escape from the quicksand pit that was the floor.
The Terminator was faster and delivered a powerful backhand across John's face. The metal hand knocked a tooth loose and flooded John's mouth with the taste of thick, bitter blood. John, still shaky from the blow, continued to try and escape from the floor. He clutched at the floor, trying to pull himself out. Almost in an amused way, the Terminator stepped on John's hand with all of its weight, shattering his hand. John howled in pain. The Terminator couldn't feel pain, pity, fear, or remorse, but it seemed to be enjoying torturing John.
John still had another hand. He could still reach Kate, yeah…
"K-Kate!" he stuttered, spitting blood as he said her name.
Kate touched John's face gently, brushing a stray hair away from his face, "I'm here. You've been tossing in your sleep and mumbling. I must say it's an improvement. You usually snore. Were you having a nightmare?"
John inhaled deeply as he was thrown from slumber. The air was thick and he knew from the scent of sweat, burnt flesh, and sterilized air that he was in the infirmary. He was laying flat on his back on a gurney. John was conscious of Kate sitting next to him. Her cheeks were hollow and she had dark circles under her eyes, but her lips were stretched in a wide, grateful smile. John's mind was racing and his heart was, too. John drew in a shaky breath as slurred words tumbled out of his mouth, " Whowhat? My men, my- the- Terminator-"
John tried to sit up, but Kate put a hand to his chest and eased him back down, "Careful. You don't want to mess up your bandages."
John was then aware that his shoulder was tightly wrapped in a professional field dressing. A bloom of blood had come through the dressing, but it wasn't much. John had a bandage around his forehead and it sagged slightly to give him a lopsided look. His arm was also bandaged in a few places.
Kate placed her own bandaged hand on his. Her hand was warm. John could feel it through the dressing.
"So like you to ask of your men. A lot of them got out. A few are wounded and a handful are MIA, but they're expected to be in a makeshift shelter somewhere in Sector 7," she said with a stiff sort of tone to her voice.
"You took out the Terminator, but you were burned yourself pretty good. Thankfully, they aren't as bad as they originally thought they were. Your armor stopped most of it," Kate said. She reached under the stretcher John was lying on and raised the armor John had been wearing. It was charred and melted smooth in quite a few places.
"You almost burned a hole clean through in a few places," Kate said almost conversationally. She paused, bit her lip, and dropped the armor to the floor. The cheerful, optimistic attitude drained from her face. Her eyes spilled over with tears as she threw herself over John's chest and clutched at his bandages. She dug her fingernails into him and sobbed on his chest, "I thought, I thought…" John's bandages absorbed Kate's tears and drank them greedily.
She couldn't get the words out, and John couldn't find the words to say, either. He ran a dirty, blood-caked hand through her hair. The texture felt silky-smooth to his rough, weathered hands. Kate drew back and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, "Sorry," she said. John leaned his head back on the lumpy pillow.
It was then that John became aware of the fact that he wasn't the only one in the infirmary. It had seemed that it was only he and Kate. There was a man with bandages around his chest and blood was blossoming through them. A young woman was holding a cold cloth to her nose. A weather-beaten man was sewing up a hole in his uniform while a tired looking nurse was wrapping his bloody feet in a bandage.
Now John noticed the faces that peered at him as people passed. Their eyes were full and wide; some were brimming with tears that threatened to spill over. Trembling lips and bleary eyes were breaking John's heart. These people were counting on him. The "great" John Connor. He was the "invincible" leader. He was supposedly the one who could bring these broken people to their feet, but John himself couldn't even stand. He couldn't let them see him like this.
John grabbed Kate's torn shirt collar and pulled her face close to his, "Wheel me into a private room."
Kate nodded and turned to a medic for clearance. The medic nodded and within a few moments, John was being wheeled sloppily through rusty double doors into a quiet, dimly lit storage room that was littered with half-open tins of bandages and a notice board that was a sea of hastily scribbled notes asking for more supplies. John exhaled heavily. Kate gave John's hand a gentle squeeze.
"These people are counting on me," John said through his teeth, "and here I am just laying here."
"You'll be back in your combat boots soon enough, soldier," Kate chimed in with sugary optimism.
"Not soon enough," John scoffed.
Kate opened her mouth to say something, but John blurted out.
"You don't understand. People out there die for me every day. Their last dying thoughts are 'At least I can die for the fight; for our freedom and for John Connor.' Don't you get it? They're dying in vain because I'm not even in the fight."
John's voice cracked as his emotion poured into his words. His words echoed off the bleak walls.
Kate's face was blank. Her face was clean from the tear trails that wound down her delicate cheeks. She sat, her hands folded in her lap and her face devoid of emotion.
A hot sense of purpose and urgency pounded in John's veins. He sat up. A jolt of pain made him twitch, but John bared it. He swung his legs over the side of the gurney. Kate looked up at him from her seat on an under stuffed stool.
"Those men," she said slowly, "did not die in vain. The fight and its leaders and its causes…how could … how could the fight for our future ever be labeled as useless?"
John's eyes locked with Kate's. She continued, "John, these men will never see you as 'out of the fight.' You are able to stand. You stand against the pressure, against the machines, against the lack of food and supplies."
Kate's voice was thick with emotion and her throat was closing around the words, "Don't fall now, John."
John's feet hit the ground. He still leaned on the gurney for support for a moment. The words were still sinking in. Those words sounded too sincere to be just sympathy. They were much deeper than that. Deep rooted as if they were truth. John believed Kate.
Kate pressed John's radio into the palm of his bandaged hand. John took Kate's face in his free hand and brought her lips to his.
"I've got to meet with Perry," John said as he pulled his worn uniform coat around him, "assess the damages, check up on those new maps, write up the new watch shifts, and address the issue of rationing."
Kate helped John button into his uniform, "Sounds like a busy day. Take it easy. You're still not in top condition."
John knelt carefully as his bandages prevented some movement and jerked on his boots, "I'll come back here in a few hours to check on you."
"We'll have to redress those wounds as well," Kate chimed in.
John replied gruffly, "I'm a big General. I can dress my own wounds."
"Oh? Just like you can tie your boots, huh?" Kate said. She pointed at his feet. He'd put them on the wrong feet.
John laughed sheepishly. So he had. John laughed again. He was secretly thrilled; he thought had forgotten how to laugh.