Chapter 2: The Tale

While traveling in time, the senses are overwhelmed by an assortment of stimuli, and although it was the second time he had experienced it, John wasn't sure he would ever grow used to it.

The bombardment included a blinding light, a mixture of searing heat and numbing cold, a simultaneous sensation of needles pricking his skin and individual hairs being plucked from his body, and finally a release that John could only compare to the sudden relief when re-surfacing while swimming under water. In any event, John found his skin crawling and spine tingling, and yet it was all over in a millisecond.

Then the reality sets in. First, the embarrassing realization that you're as naked as the day you were born. But more importantly, he thought, "Where am I? When am I?"

John looked to his right to see Weaver in approximately the same predicament, probably asking the similar questions to herself.

His mother's last words to him—I'll stop it—were still fresh in his thoughts. "It" was a reference to Judgment Day. Three billion men, women and children would be killed world-wide in the opening salvos, as the major nuclear powers responded to attack. The rest would be hunted down by the machines in the post-apocalyptic ruins.

The Connors thought they had prevented J-Day when they had destroyed Cyberdyne in 1997, but more terminators began coming after them only two years later. Cameron later informed them that J-Day was not prevented, only delayed.

All of this was running through John's mind as he looked around, trying to gauge where they were, and when. They were in what appeared to be a basement or a shelter of some kind, but the concrete walls were blown out here and there, with twisted rebar visible everywhere, either from explosions or some sort of fire fight. There were beds, cots, propane tanks, tables, chairs, pots and pans scattered about. The lighting was a crude arrangement of light bulbs strung together at uneven points on the ceiling. It smelled musty and dank. Definitely a make-shift arrangement, John thought distantly.

And, of course, around them was the circular pattern of fire and an indentation in the floor from the time-displacement bubble. That much he remembered from the first time through. But something was missing.

"Where's Cameron?" he asked Weaver. "Where's her body?"

"It doesn't come through," Weaver answered matter-of-factly, as if she expected the question.

John nodded an acknowledgement, but didn't really understand the oddities of time travel. He looked around again at the tattered existence in evidence and began leaning toward the fact that they had traveled forward in time, post Judgment Day. This is a resistance bunker, he concluded.

He turned to ask Weaver about it, but was startled by her suddenly clothed exterior. She was not wearing the white dress and heels from their departure from Zeira, but instead had on some sort of leather jacket with orange pants and leather boots. Of course, she wasn't really "wearing" anything, just appeared to be. In any event, he again became aware of his own plight, made all the more desperate by the approach of yelling voices and barking dogs.

He scrambled to a nearby bed, found a coat, quickly slipped it on, and crouched in an attempt to avoid detection by the search parties. And it was none too soon, as flashlight beams panned where he had been standing only seconds before. A team of armed men, led by a German Shepherd, quickly scanned the corridor outside the room where John and Weaver were, but they clearly had a more distant target in mind and were gone more rapidly than they had arrived.

John stood up, re-joined Weaver, and the two scampered out of the room down the corridor in the opposite direction of the search party. John had advanced maybe 10 meters when he was stopped dead in his tracks by soldier with a rifle which looked to be bigger than he was.

"Got one! Got one!" the soldier yelled to unseen parties behind him.

"One what?" John answered, confused. But he looked back and around and saw that Weaver was no longer with him. Turning back to the soldier, he said, "What? Please, I'm not metal…"

"Don't' move!" the soldier ordered, leveling his rifle at John's head.

"Please, I swear, I haven't got anything!" John pleaded. It was literally true, except for the jacket. John's mind darted for answers again—how was he to explain his sudden arrival? "I'm human!" he blurted.

"'Cause I will blast you!" the soldier replied, seemingly immune to John's pathetic explanations.

"Stand down!" a familiar voice ordered from behind the soldier, who hesitantly lowered his weapon.

From the shadows emerged the speaker. It was Derek Reese.

He advanced between the soldier and John to examine their quarry.

"Look in his eyes," Derek said, like a teacher to his student. "He's got about as much metal in it as you do."

"Derek! Yes! He's alive", John thought. He beamed—eyes wide, huge smile—at Derek, his uncle, who had been killed just days ago in the Caliba attack on the Weaver household. Good old Derek. He looked the same—the perpetual 2-day growth of beard, the tattered, olive-green hunting coat, the knowing eyes. He was a natural leader, the kind of person others are instinctively drawn to and respect. John had grown to know and love him in the short time they spent together.

"Derek!" John said, unable to control himself. He wanted to hug him.

"Yeah?" Derek answered flatly, with considerably less enthusiasm.

John's heart sank. Derek didn't know him. Of course, why would he? "Good god", he thought, "time travel certainly keeps you guessing."

"John," he answered, meekly. "John Connor…"

"I know a lot people, kid," Derek replied, shaking his head. "Don't know you."

He then turned to the others and asked, almost sarcastically, "Anybody heard the name 'John Connor?'" They confirmed Derek's ignorance—no one knew the moniker.

For a moment, John thought he was joking. No, they were deadly serious. But how can that be?

Again, John's head was spinning. All at once he thought, "Who's leading the resistance? Will I meet myself? No, future me, as he and Cameron had often referred to his 2027 self, is me. Of course! Then where is…."

Before he could conjure the thought, Derek addressed him again.

"Hmm, well you know what? I think you're gonna be famous," Derek said, grinning and glancing over John's shoulder. "My brother's back and you're wearing his coat."

John turned around before Derek had finished his sentence. If his head was spinning before, it was now ready to explode. Walking toward him was Kyle Reese, his father.

John had never met Kyle, who died before John was born, protecting Sarah from the first terminator all those years ago. John's destiny was always two-fold: lead humankind to victory against the machines and send Kyle Reese back to 1984. The two missions were intimately intertwined.

It was like looking into a mirror. Kyle was about the same height and build as John, but Kyle's hair was a little lighter than his, and his father was trying to grow a beard, but the patchy peach-fuzz wasn't fooling anyone. "Not much older than me, if at all," John thought.

"Every time I look at you, I see him," older Derek had told John when he first revealed that he knew Kyle to be John's father. John had to agree with him on that point.

It was supposedly just an innocent trip to the park for John and Derek, to celebrate John's birthday, have a little ice cream. But Derek knew perfectly well who was also at that park that day: his younger self playing catch with his 4-year old brother.

But it was surprising nonetheless, and John was speechless, awestruck. He wasn't expecting to meet his father this soon. He knew he would have to, someday, at least to prepare him to defend his mother, but he wasn't ready now. So he just stood and exchanged a dumbfounded look with his father.

Then a figure emerged from behind Kyle that caught John's attention. As the figure leaned down to pet a German Shepherd, John suddenly realized it was….

Cameron! How? Did they find John Henry? Did they figure out how to repair her? Now his amazement and joy was unavoidable, and he did all he could to prevent his jaw from hitting the floor. He wanted to call to her, knowing she could easily fill in the missing pieces, but something was wrong, something about her was off.

Shouldn't she know of his arrival? And aren't the dogs trained to detect terminators? Then she looked up and matched his stare and he could see the confusion in her eyes and expression as well. She wasn't Cameron. She wasn't a cyborg. She was a dead ringer for John's old cyber-companion, but she was human.

For John, the world suddenly came crashing down on him. A thousand questions came to mind—How can I explain my presence? What year is it? Where is Weaver? Where can I find some clothes? Am I to take command here? Is my mother still alive? Will I ever see her again? Who is the beautiful Cameron look-alike?

But no answers would be forthcoming, at least not right away. For now, for the first time in his life, he was truly alone.

For John Connor, life had been filled with some surreal days. In fact, his resume read like some sort of action film actor's. But it was all real, a point driven home by all the death he had witnessed lately, especially those he had cared deeply for.

He had been hunted by and destroyed cyborgs. He had worked with cyborgs. He had been hunted by and killed humans. He had blown up buildings and participated in car chases. And he had traveled in time. Twice. All before his seventeenth birthday.

But this day took the prize, as he was first introduced to Weaver, who had disappeared, then Derek and Kyle, and finally, the mystery girl. All in the span of 10 minutes.

Now, all eyes were on John. He was so overwhelmed, all he could think to do was to fold his arms and crouch. He exchanged questioning glances with the three of them. Words would come to his lips, but he couldn't find the breath to speak.

Derek finally broke the silence.

"All right, kid," he barked. "Who are you? Where did you come from? What are you doing here?"

John hesitated, but only for an instant. They won't believe me if I tell them the truth, he thought. His mother had told him when they saved Derek from a gunshot wound, "Derek can't know you're Kyle's son. You never trusted anyone enough to tell them about Kyle!"

But John always believed in telling the truth. It helped secure trust, something in short supply at the moment. He settled on a compromise between his mother's advice and his intuition.

"The machines left me here," John answered, looking his questioner right in the eye, hoping Derek wouldn't pick up on the half-truth. To Derek, the machines were the enemy—Skynet and the terminators. To John, there were two camps of machines—one enemy, one ally.

"Why?" Derek pressed. "Where were you being held?"

"Century City," John answered, quickly, briefly locking eyes with the mystery girl as he spoke. He remembered when Cameron had told him all the information she had on Kyle, and Century City was some sort of labor camp that he and Kyle had escaped from. Or will escape from.

"They were interrogating me," he continued. "They drugged me, took all of my clothes and left me here. I don't…."

"If the machines had you," Derek replied, accusingly, as he twisted John's left forearm into view, "Why didn't they mark you?" He was referring to the UPC-like code prisoners of Skynet typically get branded with. Good old Derek. He remembered how little he trusted Cameron too.

"I don't know," John said. "Maybe they didn't think I was a threat."

"No one's a threat to them," Kyle answered dryly. If only he knew. "Just a number."

"What did they press you on," Derek continued.

"How many of us there are, where we are," John answered, shrugging his shoulders. It was all fictitious, but he tried to think what he would ask a captured enemy soldier. "What type of weapons we had."

Derek glared at him and glanced around at the others. "So what did you tell them?"

"I told them nothing," John answered, stone faced, matching Derek's glare. He was careful to look him in the eye while he answered. "Because I only met you today."

"You seemed to recognize me," Derek countered. He was good. No detail was too small.

"You definitely resemble my uncle," John replied. Just a little, John thought, the first truthful thing he had uttered. "But I was wrong, obviously."

"Your uncle was named Derek too?" Derek said, unconvinced.

"Small world," John answered.

"Too small," Derek corrected. John had to get him off this line of questioning.

"I was alone, searching for survivors. Skynet destroyed our camp. My family's dead…" John said, his voice trailing off. He held his stare with Derek for a second and then bowed his head, as if in reverence of the dead. He was hoping they would buy the tale, so he sadly recalled recent events to conjure up some emotion. In particular, he lamented the deaths of Riley and older Derek, two that really meant a lot to him.

"I think I'm the only one that escaped," John said, as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"Where was your camp?" Kyle interrupted.

"Santa Clarita," John said, wiping the tear away, sniffling through the heartache. They had resided in Santa Clarita for a year or so, so he at least knew that area a little. He hoped it had been far enough from the worst of the nuclear devastation, far enough to believe someone had survived. He also remembered the park where Derek had taken him on his birthday last year, in North Hollywood. Presumably, the Reeses resided there.

"We don't know anyone from Santa Clarita," Derek replied, right back into it. It was classic good cop, bad cop.

"Well, you do now," John replied.

"How long were you there," Kyle asked.

"For a few years," John started, "We used to live in New Mexico, but moved here a few years…."

"He means Century City, dumb ass," Derek said. "How long did Skynet hold you?"

"I don't know," John said, growing weary of his uncle's scrutiny. But he suddenly saw a loophole. "What day is it?"

"It's Wednesday," Kyle said softly. "April 21st."

"April 21st," John repeated, contemplating the meaning of the date. John looked at Kyle as a doubtful student would an omniscient professor.

"Today's the tenth anniversary of the war," Kyle responded somberly.

"Judgment Day," John added, more to himself than to anyone. Tenth anniversary? John calculated it was the year 2021, unless J-Day had changed, and there was no reason to think it had.

"Judgment Day?" Derek chided. "You come up with that by yourself, kid?"

"No," John answered. "I think I heard my mother use it first." Another truth.

"So how long?" Derek came back.

"Not long," John managed. "We were attacked on Sunday night."

"Well, I think that's quite enough, Derek, don't you?" Kyle said. "I'm hungry, and, more importantly, cold," Kyle added, eyeing the jacket that John had absconded.

With the cue from his brother, Derek finally eased up on his interrogation of John, at least temporarily. It was long enough for everyone to catch their breath. And for John to ask Kyle for some actual clothes.

Kyle led him to a small room loaded with various items—canned food, water, batteries, assorted tools, medical supplies, clothes and a hundred other things you could associate with human existence. Scavenging in the post apocalyptic nightmare would virtually have to be a daily task, John thought morbidly.

"Don't worry so much about Derek," Kyle said reassuringly. "He's our leader and he takes his role seriously. He's worried about the group's safety, so he doesn't trust anybody he doesn't know."

"I know the type," John said, as he slipped on some jeans, a white T-shirt, and a gray hoodie. The accoutrements were a little baggy, but John wasn't about to complain.

"Trust isn't handed out, it's earned," John added, handing the coat back to Kyle. Offering his hand, he added, "I'm John Connor."

Kyle wasn't sure what it was, but the newcomer had a certain quality about him. His eyes had a strength about them and his words carried passion and conviction. Was he ready to trust him? "Give it some time", Kyle thought.

Kyle took John's hand firmly. "Kyle Reese. Pleased to meet you, John."

Kyle had no idea and couldn't possibly know that John had yearned all of his life to have this conversation. Another surreal moment for John.

John used the pause in their conversation to try on some black sneakers. Again, a little big, but better than the opposite.

John and Kyle left the supply room to join the others in the meeting room where John had been "captured." Derek was talking to the balance of the group.

"But he called you by name," said one. It was the same one that had leveled the gun at John's head. It wasn't until now that John realized that the "soldier" was clearly younger than John, an Asian, barely in his teens, if at all, probably scared out of his wits.

"Kin, I've never seen him before in my life," Derek said, shrugging his shoulders. He glanced back around to see John and Kyle returning.

"All right, listen up," Derek said, in a markedly more authoritative voice. "It will be dark in two hours, and now we have another mouth to feed." With that prompt, the group as one threw an accusing glare at John.

"Thanks a lot, Uncle Derek", John thought, but didn't dare say.

"Let's have the same scavenging group as yesterday, plus one," Derek barked. "That means you, John Connor. It's time for you to earn your keep—you're going too."

"You can impress me by not getting yourself or anyone else killed," Derek added dryly, as he sat on one a chair and began unlacing his boot. "And by finding me some chocolate."

John nodded grimly and moved over toward the entrance of the room, following Kin's gesture. Each of the members of the scavenging party was hoisting a backpack over his or her shoulders, presumably to carry back the supplies they found.

Kyle was about to join them when Derek stopped his brother short and gently pulled on his suspenders until Kyle's ear was level with his mouth.

"Keep an eye on him," Derek warned. "Skynet may be tracking."

"No worries," Kyle said, as he cocked his Beretta and joined the others.