"Hurry!" I shrieked to Reese.

But there was too much traffic and people in the way.

The Terminator was gaining with inhuman speed. He took one flying leap and landed on top of our LTD. I knew what was going to happen before it did happen. Even so, I didn't have time to do anything about it. Time seemed to slow as just like in the movie the cyborg drew back its fist and punched through the windshield. I screamed as glass exploded all over me. Lacerated fingers reached for me through the windshield. I flung myself as far back into the seat as I could. The hand seized the front of my shirt and pulled me forward.

"Ahhhhh!" I yelled, beating at the fist. But it was no use - it held onto me in an unrelenting rock-hard grip.

Reese cranked the wheel hard to the right. The LTD slewed sideways, all four tires screeching, then plowed side-on into a row of parked cars. The Terminator was thrown rolling onto the asphalt. We hurtled down the ramp between other cars, sparks flying as the sedan scraped against the sides of the ramp. My voice was hoarse from screaming - I don't think I've ever screamed more in my entire life.

But the nightmare refused to end.

Above all the noise was the gunning of a motorbike. Glancing back, my eyes widened as I saw the Terminator tucked over the handlebars of a 750, roaring down the ramp after us. I should've guessed. Against the blasting wind, he unslung an assault rifle and raised it in a one-handed grip.

"Get down!" Reese shouted, but I was already ducking. The back window of the sedan shattered under the ripping impact of bullets. Reese swerved, strafing behind a family van. The kids inside were ogling at the sight of their Hollywood hero firing at us from a motorbike. "Look, mom, it's Arnie! Yay, Terminator 4!"

Hurriedly, I dug into my bag. One thing Sarah Connor never had back in 1984 – the benefits of modern technology. I took out my cell phone and punched in 911.

"Hello—"

But Reese ripped the phone out of my hand and threw it out the window.

"Hey!" I whirled on him, furious.

"Can't afford to have it traced," he stated tersely, flicking a glance in the rear view mirror.

The Terminator was gaining.