It was 15 minutes later when the screech of tires signaled the arrival of Sarah Connor. Hurtling desperately toward the warehouse, she screamed, "John?! John?! JOHN!" the last as she finally spotted her son, lying motionless before her, empty eyes staring at the sky. There could be no doubt that her child, the one she had nurtured, raised, and protected for the past 16 years was dead. And not just humanity, but her hopes, had died with him.
Derek skidded to a halt beside her, jaw open, a look of shock in his face. The incongruity of seeing a younger version of his commanding officer in the future staring sightlessly into the bright afternoon sky amongst the rubble left him speechless. But then, as one, both he and Sarah turned to look at Cameron, still hanging motionless
Stalking toward her, Sarah reached her first, throwing a brutal backhand that would have broken a human's jaw toward Cameron's head. Cameron's face registered no emotion as it snapped toward the right, though her tears sprayed in every direction. "How could you let this happen!" she cried as she reversed the direction of her right arm, hands closing into a fist as she sent a hook punch back at her face. "You were supposed to protect him!" she screamed as she continued to pummel her, cursing her all the while. None of them heard the gasp behind them.
Finally Derek pulled Sarah back. Cold steel in his voice, he said, "That's not going to help. All we can do now, is what we should have done from the beginning to this useless metal tin-can whore." Drawing his gun, he thumbed the safety off and chambered a bullet into the barrel, putting it flush against Cameron's right eye. "I could just take your chip out and smash it," he hissed, "but I want you to see it coming. As each bullet drives into your so-called brain. I want to see if you can scream as I destroy you," he snarled.
"Put. That. Gun. Down," a voice said behind him, rage apparent despite the thready weakness of the sound.
It was the sudden shift in Cameron's features—frozen, uncaring catatonic sorrow instantly transformed into shock—that caused Sarah and Derek to turn around. That, and the fact that they recognized the voice.
John stood before them, less than 20 feet away, swaying, but most definitely alive. Clothes torn, blood dripping from his shirt, he spread his legs and arms out briefly to steady himself as he walked forward, even as Sarah found her legs collapsing from the shock.
"What the fuck?" breathed Derek, and it was a question that was echoed in Sarah's mind, and Cameron's as well.
"Get away from her. Now," John rasped as he stumbled forward. And it was Sarah who came to her senses first.
"No! Baby, no, don't try to walk, don't stand, sit down, let us take a look at you," she said, scrambling to her feet as she tried to tend to his injuries. Derek rushed forward as well, even as Cameron, still unable to move, initiated a scan.
Cameron and Sarah came to the impossible conclusion at the same time, Cameron from her scans, and Sarah as she tried to remove John's shirt to check for bleeding and injuries: Except for the mass of flaking dried blood that was turning into red-brown powder all over his torso, John didn't have a single mark on him.