Tuesday 16th October 2029 – 10.57am

The whole camp had gathered in the barn. It was so – empty. A fifth of what it had been yesterday. Connor knelt on the stage, hands bound behind his back. Erica had sort of a wide shot of the whole thing. She didn't want to record anything any more – she wasn't sure why she was doing it, but she definitely didn't want to see anyone's face in close up – everyone's emotions were too real for that.

Mr. Sansom stood to the side, while Sackhoff was talking.

"The actions of John Connor over the last few weeks have lead directly to the deaths of thousands. His plan for the Final Battle cost the lives of nearly a thousand men and women, while over nine hundred more have died in reprisals from the machines since. As of this moment, camps three, ninety-six and forty-seven have fallen, leaving the sum total of the human race at five-hundred and seventy-eight."

"A few months ago, that number was nearly ten thousand. Not since Judgement Day has the human race lost such a high percentage of it's people in such a short space of time. Connor has allowed his feelings for this -"

Alison was walked through the door. She was calm as ever, but Connor started to struggle a little when he saw her. Two soldiers brought her up on to the stage.

"This Thing to cloud his judgement. And now it is time for them both to pay." Sackhoff nodded to the soldiers escorting Alison, and they forced her onto her knees. The flap of skin on her skull that led to her chip had never been closed properly. They pulled it back.

She looked at Connor as they did so, and he started whispering to her. Erica couldn't make out the words, but they seemed to be words of comfort. Alison nodded a little, right as they pulled out her chip.

She slumped to the ground, and the room erupted into cheers. Erica's head spun from the noise – she was still suffering the effects of that bang on the head, and she was pretty sure she had a concussion of some sort. But she still didn't care.

Alison, lying hunched over on the ground, was so peaceful. She did look like she could have been asleep – if it weren't for the cuts and bruises and her black eye, the little bits of metal showing through her skin, and the fact that the machines didn't sleep, Erica might have said she was.

Connor was staring forward, but his emotions played all over his face. Sackhoff silenced the crowd, and held up Alison's chip with his good hand.

"This," he said, looking at it, "this has destroyed the human race." He threw the chip on the floor, pulled out his gun and shot it. It exploded into tiny metallic pieces.

Connor tried to jump up, to do something, but too late. The soldiers around him forced him to stay on his knees. His face – Erica had never seen anything like it, pain, rage, betrayal, guilt – it was all there, but there was something more, something worse, something harder, something primal.

Mr. Sansom stepped forward and pushed Sackhoff gently aside. "The question of John Connor's guilt or innocence in this matter has been raised. You have two hours to deliberate. We will re-convene here at 1pm to vote."

And they all exited the stage in a sort of procession; Mr. Sansom, two soldiers, Connor, two more soldiers, and finally Sackhoff. They were, Erica knew, all that was left of the original military of camp nineteen.

Alison's body was left, abandoned on the stage.

Tuesday 3rd September – 2.34am

It was pretty late when they finished watching. Sarah didn't said a word, just went straight to bed. The others were reluctant to discuss anything and left soon after.

Markus went to his new bedroom – one that had been left by a guy who'd died last night. He looked around – it was sparse, a mattress, a blanket, a pillow, blank concrete walls.

He lay down uncomfortably. It was weird, just taking someone's place like this. Like the guy hadn't existed. Or, like he was replaceable. Markus began to count again. Twenty-four definite, thirteen maybe.

He rolled over – these numbers were too big. Any number would have been too big. Why the hell should thirty seven people be dead or seriously injured just for him? And there were probably more – in the office, and who knows how many when the man-from-the-puce-volvo had been following on his own.

Markus couldn't get comfortable. His hand slid up under the pillow, and hit a bit of paper. He pulled it out, then got up to turn on the light.

His heart nearly came out of his mouth, he wanted to throw up. It was a photo of a family – a man, a woman, a baby.

The man was dead because of Markus. That child didn't have a dad because of Markus. Markus' family was dead because of Markus. Dozens of people were dead because of Markus, and they all had families, parents, husbands, wives, siblings, children.

Markus couldn't stay in this room any-more.

Tuesday 3rd September – 10.01am

Markus got up. The concrete floor was even harder and more uncomfortable than it had been the night before. He was surprised how easily he'd gotten off to sleep – he had so much to think about. Sleep had been a mercy.

Outside, John was sitting on the ground, back against the wall. He was letting the sunshine fall on his face, and when Markus' shadow got in the way as he passed, John jerked back into the real world. Markus sat next to him.

"It's weird, isn't it?" John said.

"Yeah," Markus responded.

"John Connor! Leader of the Resistance! Saviour of Humanity!" John sounded seriously bitter. "It's all crap."

There wasn't much need to say any-more than that. Markus had watched himself try to wrest power away from John, and John had seen himself lead humanity to destruction and then end the world.

They sat there for a while – Markus wasn't sure how long, then Jack and Dave came out to join them. They stood nearby, smoking the first cigarette of the morning.

"Markus, they're still looking for you, you know? Big manhunt and everything. Oh, and Sansom won," Dave announced between puffs.

"Oh yeah?" Markus said. "I always liked him."

"Me too," John chimed in.

Marita bumbled out the door, saying in her thick accent, "he's very good looking."

The four boys burst into gales of laughter.

A minute later, Sarah came out. They were still rolling around on the floor, laughing about something else. When they saw her, the laughter suddenly dried up.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay? Really?" John was tentatively excited, like a child who'd been given a puppy but was afraid it'd be taken away at any moment.

She nodded gravely. She knew, even if John didn't, that doing this, getting the documentary out there, would be difficult. And probably dangerous.

Markus watched John's face. There was this slow dawning realization. Markus didn't get it at first, but he began to piece all the things together that he knew about John. This documentary meant, if it worked, that John wasn't doomed to lead humanity after the apocalypse.

His entire life, John had had a destiny. Last night he'd discovered what that destiny was. This documentary meant that none of that had to happen. This documentary meant John Connor could have a life.

This documentary meant John Connor could save humanity. And the world didn't even have to end first.

Tuesday 16th October 2029 – 11.33am

Erica was on her way back from the doctor – he confirmed the concussion and given her a bunch of pain meds. As he'd said, usually they'd be on conservation measures with the medication, but they were all going to die in a matter of days, so who cares? Pain meds for everyone!

There was music up ahead – singing. The funeral song. She reached the graveyard wall – the group was still there. As far as she could tell, some had left, but even more had joined in and the choir was even bigger than ever. She went back into the mart to get her camera – she actually wanted to record this.

There was a crowd around Neil's bed. Her heart stopped. No.

No.

She shrunk backwards from them. She couldn't. Not again. Not today. But she gathered herself. Death, by now, was to be expected. They were all living on borrowed time. They noticed her as she got near, and stepped back to let her through.

His face -

Her cheeks were too warm, her hands shook. Without knowing what was happening, she turned around and retched. Again, and again, but she'd had so little in her stomach that after the first time, nothing came up. It could have been the concussion, or the medication, she didn't know, but it didn't matter.

She stumbled backwards, and fell over. She sat on the floor, her head resting against the edge of his cot, and everyone walked away around her, until she was alone with him.

She couldn't look at his head, but her camera was in his hands. Had he-?

She prised it out of his grasp – his hands were still warm. She hadn't been expecting that, she wanted to retch again, but stopped herself.

She stopped at her bed, then she stumbled down corridors until she found what she was looking for. She knocked.

There were no guards, no security. Probably not enough people left, and anyway, where could he go?

John Connor opened the door.

She held up her hands and offered the contents to him – camera, tape deck and all the footage she'd recorded. She couldn't speak, but he seemed to get the message. He stepped back and let her in.

Tuesday 3rd September 1996 – 11.12am

They were sitting around inside the darkened room. Dave had passed out sandwiches, and they were munching quietly.

"Plan?" Jack asked, mind still mostly on food.

"I need a few days to sort through everything. But how do we get it out there? I could put it on the Web, but I don't know if enough people will see it," John sounded already defeated – the initial high had worn off, and he was left with the pragmatic reality that his mother had foreseen.

"Look through it. We can figure out what to do with it later. Three days?" Sarah said. She looked at John.

"Three days."

Tuesday 3rd September 1996 – 6.57pm

They'd dug another pit – Markus would be perfectly happy if he never saw a shovel again. The terminator's body was much heavier than any of the others, and Jack and Markus were forced to grab an ankle each and drag it across the ground. Markus was still had to do everything one handed, but he'd gotten better at that.

Dave shouted unhelpful abuse as they did so; "Hey, watch out, I think there's a pebble coming up there. Dude, you're going about it all wrong."

"You could help if we're so bad," Markus panted.

Dave pointed at his shoulder. "Just can't do it I'm afraid," he grinned.

Jack and Markus rolled the body into the pit, and fell to the ground in sheer exhaustion.

"Dave? Hey, Dave?" Jack wheedled, "sack of thermite in the boot. Get it for me?"

"Magic word?" Dave asked.

"Hurry the fuck up."

"That'll do," Dave called over his injured shoulder as he headed for the car.

He returned, and they scattered the thermite over the body. Jack pulled out a box of matches, and started to light one, but Dave stopped him. "No good, it won't catch light. We need a flare."

"Okay, where are the flares?" Markus asked.

"In the boot," Dave replied.

Jack and Markus looked at each other. Then they looked at Dave. They groaned simultaneously.

Markus went to get one and when he got back, Dave and Jack were deep in discussion.

"No, I think I should do it. Have you ever lit a flare before?" Dave was saying.

"No," Jack conceded, "but I'm older than you."

He held out his hand for the flare, but Markus grinned, pulled the cap off and lit it himself. He dropped it into the pit and the body burst into flames to the sound of loud complaints from Jack and Dave.

They brought out some beer and chairs, and sat around joking and talking as the sun set, looking out over the valley and the jungle to the mountains beyond..

The skin had sort of melted and fried off the terminator skeleton.

"Holy shit!" Markus exclaimed, looking at the others. "This shit's actually real. Robots from the future are trying to kill me."

Jack was just as amazed, but Dave shrugged like it was nothing.

Gradually, Marita, John, and finally Sarah, joined them.

There was a moment – Markus was never sure what to expect from Sarah.

"Aha! There she is!" Jack was somewhere approaching drunk, and stood up to give Sarah his chair. She sat down, looked around and demanded, "Beer?!"

They roared with laughter – they were all a little tipsy, and Dave reached down to hand her one. "Um," he said. "They're all gone."

Markus leaned over and gave her the rest of his. He didn't need any more, he'd learned his lesson. She didn't thank him, but she nodded. It meant something – it meant Markus was one of them now. He had a place. After everything, he had a place.

He looked around. After the horror and fear and tragedy of the last few days, he hadn't thought that he'd ever feel something even close to contentment again. It was far from perfect. He was far from perfect, and he'd never be the same, never be so innocent, naive, ever again. But, for the moment, he was safe and he was with good people.

Tuesday 16th October 2029 – 11.46am

They'd loaded the last ten minutes onto the computer. There'd been flashes, frames popping up on the screen as the video transferred. Erica was sure she didn't want to see it, but somehow she had to. This message was for her.

They'd fast forwarded through the last things Erica had recorded. It was loaded now. John looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded. He pressed play.

Neil sat, alone. Erica didn't know where – it wasn't the mart, there didn't seem to be anyone around, but it was too dark to identify it. Didn't matter anyway.

"Um..." he began. "I don't know what to say." He looked so helpless.

"It's because of the toothpaste." He smiled. Erica giggled despite herself, despite knowing what was going to happen.

"No, it's not." He looked at the screen, deadly serious again.

"I can't sit here and wait for them to come," he began, and then stopped.

"No, that's not true either. I've wanted-" his voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat. "I've wanted to do this for so," he paused, and started again. "I've wanted to do this for so long. And now I can."

He stood up. Erica stopped breathing. The gunshot made her jump, even though she'd been expecting it. His body slumped to the ground, out of sight. There were thirty seconds of blank air, until someone ran into the room.

"Oh. Oh. Help?!" the person began – Erica couldn't see who it was, but they were talking mostly to themselves, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

"HELP!" The shout was as expected, as sudden and as devastating as the gunshot had been. They bent down, over the body, but there was nothing to do. Someone else came into the room and the camera shook around a bit and then went blank.

Erica didn't cry. She didn't scream, or do anything really. She just stood there. She didn't think. She couldn't. She wasn't sure how long, but eventually John moved, just a little – he shifted back in his seat.

She looked at him. "Thank you."

And then – black.