For the Silver Shoes had fallen off in her flight through the air, and were lost forever in the desert. -– L Frank Baum, The Wizard of Oz
This stretch of the Sonoran is a killer, Viejo tells Sarah. It killed one of his children, three of his grandchildren. It killed his brother.
When she doesn't reply, he spits on the dust-washed tiles of the cantina floor and says, "It slaughters. Like a butcher."
Sarah glances at the table where Jesse and Savannah wait and watch, and then smiles in the face of his disapproval. "Sounds familiar." She holds his gaze and lets him see exactly how serious she is as she pushes the money towards him again. "Cuando toca, toca."
The old man narrows his eyes and jerks his head over to their watchers. "Is it their time too?"
"It's everyone's time," she replies coolly. "Do you have what we need? I came to you because Felix said you were good. If that's changed tell me now, I'll find someone else."
Money wins; in Sarah's experience, money usually does. Viejo flicks a practiced thumb through the bills and then tucks them into the threadbare canvas bag at his elbow. "Nothing has changed, but you're a fool. There are easier crossings."
"Easier to get caught, too. I can't risk that."
The old man studies her; she wonders if he sees determination, or if he sees fear. "No," he says at last, "Maybe you can't. You will have someone to catch you? For a small fee, I can-"
"It's arranged." She hopes it's arranged, anyway. Their survival resting on hope isn't what she wants, but it's not like she can trust.
Viejo pushes a folded piece of printer's paper across the table. "Routes. Times. Follow carefully, keep quiet and move quickly, and the patrols won't find you." He grins and gold glints. "Anyone else, I cannot say. But if I am asked, I will tell them you decided to try a safer crossing."
That's more than Sarah expected from him; she smiles her thanks warily and doesn't understand why the old man – with at least one gun in that bag, and with hands inked in prayer on his skin - suddenly seems to relax.
She asks, "You going to wish me luck?"
"If I did," he says dryly, "you'd tell me you didn't need it."
She ducks her head to concede the well-aimed point. He's right - she wouldn't actually believe it, but she'd say it.
"But I'll wish you success." He grins crookedly, "Mal paso, darle prisa."
Sarah waits until he's gone before she allows her smile to fade away.
To bad steps … make them quick.
Jesse weaves through the midday bar crowd, towing Savannah behind her with one hand. Her other hand brushes the hem of her shirt, never more than a few inches from the 9mm at her back.
Sarah lifts the kid onto her lap while Jesse takes the only other chair.
"Get it?" Jesse asks, and picks up the mostly empty bottle Viejo left. She sniffs it and then drinks the rest of the beer down.
Sarah scans the paper and passes it over. "Patrol routes and times, radio frequencies. We'll go this afternoon."
Jesse pushes the bottle to the side and leans back in her chair with the studied slouch of a teenager pushing their luck. The teenager Sarah knows, anyway. By her count, Jesse's promise of good behavior is going to have a lifespan of two weeks – even Derek had lasted longer than that. A smile would be a mistake; she thinks of Riley and the amusement fades away.
"Splitting up's stupid. You and the kid alone, metal's never had it so easy. You'll both die." Jesse sounds concerned, but in the undercurrents of that concern something sharper is stirring, and that's not something Sarah can afford to let surface.
She stares into Jesse's eyes until the woman blinks and then she speaks flatly, "If I say we're splitting up, we're splitting up."
Jesse's lip curls into a sneer. "Your way or an unmarked grave next to the highway. I know, okay? But-"
"The second I don't think I can trust you, I won't kill you," Sarah interrupts in the same level tone. "I'll cripple you and leave you out there, alone, waiting for the machines."
Jesse doesn't move, Sarah smiles intently and prompts, "Say you understand."
"I understand," Jesse whispers at last, and the sharpness sinks without a trace.
Sarah leans forward, not letting Jesse look away. "Do you believe me?" She watches Jesse's gaze as it flickers over her expression and doesn't have to wonder what the woman sees there.
Jesse nods slowly, with an almost bemused frown. "I believe you."
Sarah hopes she does, because Jesse was right: they need her. That, and Sarah doesn't want to kill her – she doesn't want to kill anyone. Every life she doesn't take is a fight against the machines she wins, but Jesse needs to know there are fights that Sarah is willing to lose.
She lets her eyes stray to the scar on Jesse's forehead and the tension stretches another second before Sarah sits back abruptly and says, "You're coming with us."
Jesse recoils almost imperceptibly and then her mouth curves with bitter admiration and manages to keep most of the sarcasm out of her voice when she asks, "Do I get to know who has the pick up?"
Sarah nods, she can afford to give a little now. Call it positive reinforcement. "Ellison."
Jesse doesn't respond, but Sarah doesn't miss the flash of concern and she has a pretty good idea what the next question would be. "I FedEx'd him when we got into town. Unless Skynet is opening our mail now, we just have to worry about the machine following us."
She looks down at Savannah. The kid's plucking at the stringy yellow hair of an almost shapeless rag doll and murmuring too quietly to hear.
On the journey to Nogales, she went from quiet to a withdrawn silence that not even Jesse's weirdly affectionate threats could bring her out of. Sarah feels a prick of unease, but there's nothing they can do right now; she looks back to Jesse. "Oranges, energy bars, jerky. Sun block."
"If we're still out there when the sun comes up, we'll have more to worry about than sun block," Jesse points out, carefully.
"Savannah won't." Sarah brushes a hand over long red hair. They'll have to dye it soon, but not yet. "Just get it. And as much water as we can carry without getting slowed down."
Jesse says, "We'll be carrying her too."
Sarah shakes her head, but Savannah says, "I'll walk."
-o-
Savannah walks.
She's a blurred shape, padded against the cold and stumbling over the scrub. She whimpers sometimes, but she doesn't cry and she doesn't ask to stop. Sarah is fiercely proud of her.
In front – on point - Jesse paces solidly, one foot in front of the other like she could walk the desert forever. The food bag is slung across her back and the 12-gauge is in her hands.
Sarah pulls the straps of her bag tighter over her shoulders. The water is heavy, but she carries it gladly. She remembers when she had none.
Behind them, Hijo pads almost silently.
They walked for two hours before the sun set, and they've walked two more since. They barely have to cover four miles; even keeping to Savannah's pace, if the ground were even they would be there by now.
Instead, packed sand pretending to be earth shifts under their feet, dragging their footsteps back and making it harder to take that next step forward. Patches of smokethorn and chollacactus force them to weave back and forth over rocky ground and the rise and fall of the land only makes it worse.
Their breath frosts as the air grows colder; it glints in the moonlight before melting away.
The only weapons they have are the shotgun, a couple of 9mms and some grenades. The rest they abandoned. Ellison will have more – he better have more - but there are hours to go before they reach him and somewhere behind them the machine is hunting.
Every snap of a twig makes her heart beat faster and that's more tiring than the march could ever be. Sometimes she sees shapes darting at the very edge of her vision - coyotes and bobcats, silently haunting the intruders as their territory is crossed. When a howl goes up far behind them she flinches, but Hijo only swings her head once and then ignores it.
Twenty minutes later Jesse stops, holds up a hand and crouches in one smooth movement. Savannah laboriously lays herself flat behind the cover of Hijo and Sarah feels her knees creak as she turns and crouches, swinging her gun in an arc to cover where Jesse can't.
She listens.
Somewhere, miles to the northeast, traffic on the interstate hums. At Jesse's waist the radio crackles – the few exchanges between the Patrols have all indicated they're following the routes on the paper.
It takes a few seconds before she hears the growl of another engine, one much closer than it should be. On the horizon, appearing and disappearing with the dips in the ground, she sees headlights approaching
She swears under her breath and beckons Savannah to her; the girl scrabbles closer. Up close her eyes are wide, but without the sheen of instinctive fear Sarah's come to expect. The kid's scared, but she isn't terrified.
Sarah makes her tone softly reassuring anyway. "Hide in the scrub with Hijo, okay? No matter what, you don't come out unless-"
"I remember," says Savannah, more or less audible under the muffling.
"Go." Sarah gives her a gentle push and the girl runs, bent almost double as she tries to stay low, just like she's been taught.
Sarah waits just long enough to see her disappear from view and then joins Jesse in the closest dip in the ground. And a dip is all it is - they're not lucky enough for a ditch. They may be just lucky enough for the jeep not to run right over it; maybe they'll even lucky enough for the headlights to miss them.
"Ellison?" Jesse struggles out of her shirt and then wraps it quickly around the barrel of the shotgun.
Sarah re-checks her own equipment as she replies; nothing can be allowed to shine. "No, I didn't tell him the route. If he had to come looking, he'd call. Nothing on the radio?"
"Nothing," Jesse confirms. "They were talking about some guy's ex-wife. Turns out, she's a bitch. Coyotes? Runners?"
"Maybe," Sarah breathes and tries to flatten herself even further. The jeep is coming from the North; it's not the machine unless it's circled around. Which is possible.
Jesse carefully lowers herself down. "Two in the front, one in the back."
"Good," Sarah says and lets some of the morbid amusement into her tone.
After a second Jesse snorts and then they both laugh, because it's funny. Three means it's probably not machines. Whoever these people are, chances are good they're only human, and human is nothing at all.
The jeep slows, and then stops, and it's not funny anymore.
The headlights stay on, washing the ground in light but hiding the passengers as they open the doors. There's no conversation Sarah can hear, but she can just make out the shape of a man as he holds his hand up and then gestures sharply to the left.
Hand signals aren't good news and from Jesse's hiss, she agrees.
Two figures fade into the darkness behind the jeep and Jesse turns on her back and tries to pick out movement coming in behind them. Sarah watches as the third figure walks deliberately to the open ground between the dip and the scrub hiding Savannah.
"Sarah Connor."
Sarah says nothing as the figure turns a slow circle. Her eyes are adjusting enough that she can pick out his clothing; it's some kind of uniform, but not the Border Patrol and she doesn't think it's military either.
"Sarah Connor," he says again. Then, "We want Savannah Weaver, you will be allowed to leave."
His accent isn't quite right and the words are stilted, as if he's reading words he doesn't understand. But she knows he can't be a machine, Hijo would have been barking long before now.
Thirty feet away Hijo growls, behind Sarah the shotgun is deafening as Jesse fires.
Sarah kicks two bullets into the ground at the man's feet and then pulls herself up and runs towards him. She's barely been moving a second when she knows it hasn't worked: he doesn't jump, he doesn't flinch away - he turns to meet her rush.
At the last moment she goes into a slide, aiming for his ankles and hoping like hell he'll flinch at that.
The shotgun blasts again as she slams into him and he stumbles back and then falls. She lets herself ride the wave of relief and uses it to roll to her feet. The man twists to meet her as she kicks at his head and she feels bone crunch under her boot. He coughs out and blood flashes bright and black for a moment before it's just one more shadow pooling on the ground. Another kick and he falls back to sprawl bonelessly over the ground. She takes the gun from his hand and leaves him there.
Hijo's not barking anymore, she's making the kind of ripping, tearing sounds that Sarah only hears when the dog is hunting. Somewhere in the scrub a man screams and screams again, until the only thing left in him is a choking whimper and then not even that. She allows herself one moment of savage elation before she whistles for the dog to hold, not kill.
"Up on your six," says Jesse's laconically from behind her. Sarah twitches, but she manages not to turn and swing. She takes a breath and lets it shudder through her chest as she fights the adrenaline down.
She takes one more deep breath and then jogs over to the scrub, where she finds Savannah curled into a tight ball. Sarah murmurs the words that will let her pick the girl up and pull her close. She tries to shield her eyes from the scene; even in the sharp relief of headlights and shadow, Hijo's muzzle is dark and slick, and the form on the ground is nowhere near right.
Sarah should have whistled the dog to hold earlier; when she sees the rifle, she thinks maybe she shouldn't.
With Savannah in her arms, she turns back to see Jesse pulling another figure into the arc of the headlights. When a hand jerks spasmodically she thinks he's alive, and then she sees the shape of his head. Heads shouldn't be that shape.
Jesse looks speculatively at the jeep. "Guess we got a ride."
Sarah nods over to the scrub, "Drag him in there with the other one."
She lets Savannah slip out of her arms once they reach the dip. "Stay in here, okay?"
The parka hood nods. "'kay."
"You hungry?"
The hood shakes.
"Thirsty?"
The hood shakes again.
Sarah glances back at the man in the headlights; he's still out, she has time. "I'm thirsty." She pulls her water bottle out from its straps on the bag, pops the lid and drinks. It tastes too warm and too plastic, but it's still water.
Savannah's eyes watch and Sarah can see thoughts turning over; she doesn't rush them.
Finally Savannah reaches out and Sarah gives her the bottle. Savannah drinks carefully, no more than Sarah did, and hands it back.
"You going to be okay waiting here?"
The hood nods.
It's probably as good as Sarah's going to get. She walks back to the man, crouches just out of his reach and then splashes some water into his face. He groans and she does it again. This time his eyes flicker open.
"Sarah Connor," he mumbles indistinctly, and spits blood and saliva onto the ground. His jaw works and he struggles to sit up.
She lets him. "Who do you work for?"
He twists his head as Jesse steps out of the darkness; his shoulders fall and Sarah smiles.
"You can tell me, or you can tell her. Better if you tell me."
There's a soft, sharp sound as Jesse draws a knife from its sheath at the small of her back.
Bad cop, worse cop. Christ.
"Why do they want the kid?"
"I don't know." The man doesn't look scared, if anything he looks resigned.
"What's your name?"
He shakes his head and Jesse says. "You look like a Robert. Can I call you Bob?"
'Bob' watches her warily as she circles him; he cranes his head to keep her in his sight until tracking Jesse's path leads him back to Sarah. He shudders and stares like a rabbit out on the highway. Like he knows he's road kill.
She says, "We want you alive – you can take a message back for us."
For the first time there's a hint of hope in his eyes and she smiles again. "But you need to talk first, Bob. And you need to talk quickly, because soon the swelling will get so bad you won't be able to." She leans closer and whispers, "Even when you really, really want to."
Bob blinks and looks away. "What do you want to know?"
"Tell me who you are and who you're working for, that's it."
He swallows thickly, spits again and then mumbles, "My name is Elias. We—we were told to extract the girl. That is all." He looks at the trail of gore Jesse's kill left as it was dragged away, reds and greys glistening in the high beams, and swallows convulsively. Sarah guesses she wouldn't like to throw up with a cracked jaw either.
Jesse nudges him with her foot to get his attention. "How did you know where we were?"
"I can't. I -" His eyes dart around now, as if he's expecting instant retribution from something even worse than a woman who let her dog eat someone alive. Something crawls up Sarah's spine and she resists the urge to turn as Jesse shifts her stance warily. "We have a locator, it's in the jeep," he says in a rush.
"I see. I have one more question, Bob. Sorry," she smiles her apology and for the first time, the man gives a tentative smile back, "I have one more question, Elias."
His eyes rise to meet hers; he's not like the last company man she met. No madness riding just under the skin. She doubts he's older than she is, and blonde hair and a round face make him seem younger than that. Cheap suits who barely put up a fight and probably weren't told to expect one. Easy to kill, easy to leave in the desert, with a jeep they wouldn't need anymore.
"How stupid do you people think I am?"
His smile fades and in the instant between shock and fear, she sees the anger. He says something in a language she doesn't understand and then kicks out fast at her ribs. She twists enough to take it on her hip but the impact takes her down hard and she can't find a way to brace as he throws himself after her.
He drops heavily to his knees so close that she can see his pupils contract and hear his breath stutter. He sways and Sarah looks beyond him as Jesse wrenches her knife out of his back and then lets the body crumple to the side.
Sarah climbs to her feet and ignores the closed off expression Jesse's wearing; if she's hiding satisfaction, Sarah really doesn't want to know. She mutters her thanks and then leans down pull out Elias' pockets.
Nothing; she wasn't really expecting there would be. There's a flesh-colored bug in his ear, but when she holds it against her own there's nothing but static. It's tempting to take it but she won't, for the same reason she's leaving everything else.
She looks back up to see Jesse staring almost abstractly down at the body. "This was too easy," Jesse says at last.
"Too easy." Sarah confirms. "If these guys were sent by the same people who tried for me a few months ago, they know better than to try something like this. None of them even got a shot off."
Jesse turns to look at the jeep thoughtfully. "You think they wanted us to take it?"
"Uh huh. So it stays here."
"We could look, see if there's a locator. They found us somehow," Jesse says, and takes a step forward.
"Leave it," Sarah snaps.
"I-" Jesse growls her frustration and stops. "Fine." At least she doesn't call Sarah paranoid; maybe in the future there's no such word.
They drag Elias into the scrub. The night makes it easier; it turns blood to black water, bodies to things. The desert will finish what Hijo started.
Sarah washes the blood from her hands as well as she can, but when she goes to pick Savannah up the girl squirms until Sarah is forced to drop her. "I can walk."
"I know," Sarah says and glances at Jesse.
Jesse shrugs. "Still no traffic on the radio, they didn't hear anything."
Sarah looks into Savannah's stubborn expression and smiles. "I'll make you a deal. We're going to be walking faster now. As long as you can keep up, you can walk. But when you can't, you tell one of us, okay?"
Savannah nods.
Sarah bites the inside of her cheek and then says awkwardly, "Has your Mom said anything?"
The times she's tried contact while Savannah has slept, the machine has stayed silent and inert. She doesn't like it. Doesn't trust it. She's halfway sure that's how they're being tracked, but if it is there's nothing she can do about it. For now.
Savannah touches her coat where it covers the bracelet, as if assuring herself it's still there. "Mommy's too busy to talk to me. She has to work. It's very important."
That sounds like nothing good. Sarah musters another smile and pats the kid's arm, "You listen out for her, okay?"
Savannah starts walking; Jesse watches her go past and then grins sharply at Sarah before she jogs to the girl's side. "If you want to take point, you got to learn how to do it."
Sarah whistles for Hijo and then follows after them.
-o-
It's dawn by the time they reach the access road, dusty and dirty and wired on fear and exhaustion.
From the thin cover of trees Sarah can see an old blue minivan there, parked up next to a shack. Inside it she can see the outline of a driver and whoever they are, they're moving. She puts a hand on Savannah's shoulder and then nods to Jesse. "Ask him for the date. If the answer isn't zero four twenty-one eleven, tell him you're coming to get us and walk away." She smiles humorlessly. "Then, run."
Jesse drops her bag and leaves the shotgun at Sarah's side. One hand resting under her shirt at the small of her back, she moves further into the copse. A few minutes later Sarah sees her emerge thirty feet up the road.
"Where's Mister Ellison?" Savannah whispers.
"Jesse's looking for him," replies Sarah absently. "And playing bait," she doesn't add. There are parts of Savannah's education that can wait.
Jesse walks slowly to the van, stopping when the door clicks open and the driver gets out.
It looks like Ellison, but that doesn't mean anything at all. Jesse's mouth moves; Sarah can't hear what she says, but she can see Ellison respond. Jesse says something else and her stance shifts closer to flight before Ellison speaks again.
When Jesse nods towards their position and Sarah relaxes. It's harder to force herself out of cover than she expects, so she does it quickly and with her chin raised. When she isn't immediately shot, she reaches back for Savannah's hand. They walk slowly together and Sarah can't shake the feeling that they're being tracked; can't stop remembering the last time she and Ellison met or the jail cell she slept in.
Savannah's hand tugs from hers and the kid runs the last few feet to Ellison's side. Ellison lifts the kid with an easy smile and murmurs something that makes her giggle softly.
When he looks back to Sarah his smile hardens warily at the edges, but it doesn't disappear. "So I guess it's good to see you."
Sarah pulls her attention back, away from Savannah and a pang of jealousy she wasn't expecting. "Really?"
The corner of his mouth lifts. "No, not really."
She smirks. "You too."