Title — Terminator: Prey Drive
Description — Can't wait until the next Terminator movie? Read this Terminator fan fiction about the struggle between the survivors of Judgement Day and machines with animal instincts.
Terminator: Prey Drive
Part 2: A fire rekindled
By Dave Trifunov
Three weeks had passed, and Palmer had seen very little evidence of the machines, which was a huge relief to him. His band of survivors now numbered three, and he wasn't interested in adding any more to that. He didn't like the thought of a girl doing something stupid to attract attention, but it had been a long time since he could talk to anyone, so he was putting up with her. It probably didn't hurt that she was finally healthy again, and he could see how beautiful she was. Fine features, and slightly tomboyish, her black hair fell down to the middle of her back. Her dark eyes seemed to hint at something more. Another mouth to feed would seriously cut into his supplies, but he was getting better with a bow and arrow, so hunting was always an option.
The dog he could justify. After all, dogs could easily live in the wild, so why would the Terminators pay any attention to a stray should an HK-Aerial notice it from high above during a search? But the real issue, he admitted to himself, was he didn't like the responsibility. He didn't want his own stupid mistake to cost the lives of things he cared about.
His "armored vehicle," as Tabitha called it, was complete. He parked it in the trees, and covered it with a camouflage tarp he discovered inside the sporting goods store in town. At least with another person around, he had twice the manpower to find and collect supplies. The walk into Good Soil was about 20 minutes, so it was tough to carry too much back to the camp. And every time he went back, it seemed there were fewer and fewer resources. There was occasional evidence of passing scavengers, or survivors, picking through the rubble, so he wanted to secure as much for them as possible. She tried to convince him the Wal-Mart in Meadow Lake would offer years of essentials, but he didn't want to risk driving an hour along the highway unless it was absolutely necessary.
Besides, he thought, there has to be an army or government formulating a plan, a response to get humanity back in control. Maybe they would just have to tough it out for a few more weeks. So, instead, he decided cleaning out Good Soil, store by store, would be safer. He wanted to go back for the industrial-sized tins of tomato sauce he spotted once at Milano's Pizzeria, and was hoping for cured salami or pepperoni, or even vacuum-packed dough or cheese. They were also pushing along a wheelbarrow in the hopes they could fill it, and maybe a shopping cart, with those freeze-dried meals made for camping, maybe an extra weapon for the girl, from the camping outfitter. The meals were compact, and lite, and would sustain them for weeks. They seemed to have enough food for a good three months, but canned fruit cocktail, baked beans and Spaghetti-O's couldn't sustain them forever.
And he wasn't willing to start any big fires. He knew smoke would signal the machines. He almost thought travelling even further north was the best idea, if they could survive the cold winters; supplies would be slimmer up there, too.
When they finally reached the first store, his heart sank. The pizzeria's freezers had been damaged worse than he imagined. While they looked untouched from the front, the concussion of bombs exploding around them had cracked the frames, and when he opened the lids, all he found was a moldy mess of unrecognizable green fuzz. There were fewer canned goods than he'd hoped, and almost nothing was vacuum sealed. They left with just a couple of cans of pineapple, tomato sauce, and olives.
The P&Q gas station and convenience store was only slightly better. They managed to uncover a box of 24 beef jerky packages and a pallet of dry dog food in the store room; at least it wasn't a total loss for Lucy. There was no junk food—potato chips, candy bars and soda—because it was the first thing roaming survivors who might have stumbled into town discovered, but often they didn't root around into the back rooms.
The shopping cart they found at the convenience store rattled along the pavement, the only sound for miles, as they made a now even more important trip to Wilderness Outfitters. It was off the highway, and unless you were local, you probably wouldn't even know it was there. Inside, they collected the last few propane tanks, dried soups and meals, and a weapon for the girl. Palmer was busy searching through the store room when Lucy's growl made him stop dead. She rarely made any noise at all, let alone anything remotely aggressive.
"Wait here," he told Tabitha.
He grabbed his rifle and went outside to find the dog. He could see only her backend as she stood at the corner of the building staring at something out of his view, her tail straight up at attention. He went around the other side of the building, peered around the corner and nearly screamed. It was what appeared to be a motorcycle, cruising slowly toward the front of the store, but there was no driver. Its sleek silver and black frame was nothing more than weapons and exhaust pipes.
The dog didn't move, and the machine didn't seem to even notice it. It was nearly silent, too, and Palmer believed it was conducting surveillance. He crept away from his corner, and went through the store's back entrance. He came up quietly behind Tabitha, placed a hand around her mouth, and pulled her down to the floor, away from any windows. Her muffled scream, he thought, was going to be the end of them. When Lucy trotted into the room, he was sure the machine would follow.
He made the "shhhh" sound to both of them, with a finger over his lips. They all waited there on the floor for what seemed like an hour, but was more likely 15 minutes. Finally, Palmer stood and carefully checked for any evidence of the machine, and there it was, casing the building. He wasn't sure it would ever leave, so he sat back down again.
Shrugging his shoulders, as if to ask now what, he looked at Tabitha. She stood slowly, saw the machine cross in front of the front window, grabbed her gun and released the safety.
Palmer was stunned. She leaned into his ear and said, barely loud enough to hear, "It won't go anywhere. It knows something is inside. We have to kill it."
She crawled along the floor to their shopping cart, cautiously removing a propane tank and handed it to him.
"When it goes by us again, go outside, open the valve and leave the tank in the road. Come back inside, take the dog, and hide someplace safe."
She spoke with such icy determination that he followed her orders. He'd never tried to fight back before, and obviously she survived months on the road somehow.
He did as he was told. Tabitha went out the front. As the machine passed her, she followed behind it, just out of sight. When it came upon the hissing propane tank it stopped. She leaned against the wall, aimed and fired.
The machine appeared to know what was coming, and accelerated away, but it wasn't faster than the bullet. Her round pierced the metal, the sparks ignited the gas, and a fireball sprang from the tank's belly.
The machine spun sideways onto the pavement. She ran up behind it, filling the carcass with another three bullets. Its lights appeared to dim, as she stood over it with her gun at the ready. Palmer came running from the store, the tank flaming in the road.
"Holy shit."
"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" Palmer asked Tabitha, who was still fixated on the smoking motorcycle.
"I grew up hunting," she said.
"What the hell is that thing?"
"Some of the guys called them Mototerminators," she said. "If you're smart enough, you can actually hotwire them, then ride them, but we have to go. All these things are linked into some communication system. It's probably already sent reinforcements."
They left behind all of the supplies and started running. The 15 minutes it took them to return to camp was painful. Palmer's lungs were burning, and Tabitha was just hours removed from starvation. They collapsed inside the cabin, with their gasps for air echoing off the walls. Only the dog appeared able to still run that distance, and Lucy kept her end of the bargain by standing on the back of the old couch in the living room and watching out the window.
"It's like she knows what's going on," Tabitha said.
They eventually regained their strength and retreated to the bedroom, where they could see the sky back toward town through the window. They both fully expected to spy an HK-Aerial or, at the very least, a drone appear on the horizon. Nothing materialized after 15 minutes, and they considered themselves in the clear. It was then Palmer realized how fragile his life had become. He locked his eyes on Tabitha, leaned over to kiss her, and they collapsed on the bed, stealing an hour doing something they had until very recently considered impossible. It was while they made love that Palmer didn't once think about machines, or Mototerminators, or a world destroyed in flame and ash.