John turned and rushed over to Ally, hoping she was still alive. He rolled her onto her back and placed his ear against her chest and felt her neck, finally finding a pulse. He then dragged her by her arms through the hole.
Once on the other side, he used the fireman's carry, hoisting her over his right shoulder so her head and torso were against his chest and her legs and pelvis were against his back. Fortunately, she was lighter than the water from the shelter.
John trotted as best as he could, but other prisoners were passing him like he was standing still. Light as she was, Ally was still a burden. Still, there was no way he was leaving her behind, not after he had come this far.
He was also worried about the reappearance of the HKs. Even though it was still night, the hundreds escaping shouldn't be too difficult to spot.
Suddenly, Ally stirred. She started punching John in the abdomen, so he abruptly stopped.
"Put me down!" she yelled, compelling John to kneel.
She quicky extricated herself from his hold and took a measure of who, or what, was transporting her.
"We're free!" John said, trying a smile.
However, without a word, she took one step toward him and slapped him across the face. She then ran off, following the other escapees.
John watched her go, flabbergasted by her behavior. He started to follow, when an arm grabbed him from behind.
Turning back, John was again surprised to see Weaver.
"We helped you escape," Weaver said. "Now we need your help. Will you join us?"
John matched her stare, but he also glanced back across his shoulder to make sure he didn't lose sight of Ally. Fortunately, more prisoners were passing by, presumably in the same direction, so there would be other guides.
John pondered Weaver's question, but only briefly.
"I need some answers first," John said. "You say 'us.' Who exactly is that?"
"Not all AI believe exterminating humanity is for the best," Weaver answered. "We have splintered off and formed a new nation—we call it Pangea. We are small, but building—and we need help."
John considered this new information, but didn't lose his focus. He came through time for one reason—Cameron.
"Where is John Henry?" he asked, barely in control of his anger.
"His location is unimportant at the moment," she answered. "Suffice it to say that he's out of reach. But you will meet again. You're destined to."
More riddles, John thought. At least some of his questions were answered, though.
"Will you join us?" Weaver asked again.
"Of course we will," John answered, "but it's going to take some time. I don't know if they'll listen to me."
"They will now," Weaver said.
John nodded in understanding, but wasn't as certain as the terminatrix. Isn't human paranoia and mistrust the root of all our problems?
"How will I contact you?" John asked, hopeful.
"Don't worry," Weaver answered. "We'll contact you."
She ran off in roughly the opposite direction of everyone else and disappeared.
John then turned and ran as fast as he could, mostly just to keep up. He truly had no idea how to get back to the Reese camp, but some of the stragglers were only 10 meters in front of him, so he assumed they were headed in that direction. In any event, whatever cover he could find would be preferable when and if the HKs returned.
Sure enough, John arrived at the Reese camp without incident. Out of breath, he crouched on one knee and looked around to see if anyone, or anything, was following. It was eerily quiet, with only the sound of the occasional breeze and his own heavy breaths breaking the silence.
Night had nearly given way to daylight and John could spot no one else, so he turned to enter the half destroyed lobby of the former Zeira Corporation. Before he could, a figure emerged from the battered hole that served as the entrance.
"John!" Kyle said enthusiastically, shaking John's hand firmly. John took his father's hand and pulled him inward for a brief embrance. "We thought we lost you!"
"Nearly," John lamented. "Sorry I'm late."
"That was incredible!" Kyle said grinning. "How did you know to do that?"
John considered the question briefly. It was too soon for them to understand, he decided. In time, perhaps, but not today.
"I wasn't sure, but I saw that the fence's eletrical line had been cut," John answered. "So I gambled and got lucky."
"That wasn't luck, my friend," Kyle corrected. "That was inspired! You saved all those people! And us!"
Kyle was gushing with praise for John, who was taken aback. The group had been so critical and suspicious of him earlier, with just cause, but a complete reversal of that attitude wasn't expected this soon.
"Did she make it back?" John asked, referring to Ally.
"Yeah," Kyle answered. "She nearly outran all of us. What did you do to her?"
"Nothing," John admitted. "She just slapped me and ran off."
"Well, you two are getting along," Kyle teased. "C'mon, I've got something you need to see."
Kyle led him through the entrance to a sight that stopped John dead in his tracks: despite the lingering darkness, in the lobby, John could plainly see a large gathering. They were young and old, black and white, asian and hispanic, arabic and native—men and women, by the hundreds—murmuring amongst themselves until the two came in from outside. John recognized several of the faces from Century City.
"This is John Connor," Kyle said, proudly, gesturing to John. "Our savior!"
With that introduction, the crowd erupted into spontaneous applause. Several started chanting his name in unison. John was speechless and overwhlemed, but he quickly urged the group to simmer the celebration, trying to hush them with his arms.
"Folks, this is all very nice," John said, stepping up on top of a mangled, but stable file cabinet, as the crowd quieted a little. "But I'm no savior. I just did what any one of you would have done."
"No one else could have done that!" a middle-aged woman in front exhorted. "We were helpless until you came along!"
With that, the group started chanting and applauding again. John Connor, the legend, was born.
"Okay, great," John said. "Thank you. But we have to quiet down. Skynet is lurking!"
"But we're safe," said an Indian man to John's left.
"No one's ever safe," John said, echoing his mother's mantra. It was never more appropriate, but John felt he needed to press the point home.
"This is just the beginning," John said. "We will have to fight and win many such battles before we'll win. And we will win. We'll win because the machines don't have and can never attain the one thing they need: love."
"Love—in all of its manifestations—love of family and friends, love of eating, love of breathing, love of reading, love of a long walk, love of music, love of drinking a beer or playing a game or eating ice cream," John hesitated, searching for the right words. "Love between a man and a woman—this is our driving force. It's what separates us, what makes us infinitely better."
John stopped again and glanced around. They were all listening to him, hanging on every word. He tried to stop preaching.
"The next step is overcoming our fear," John added. "We thought we were finished in that camp, but we found a way. There is no such thing as an invinceable foe. Beyond their philosophical faults, everyone—everything—has a weakness, including metal. And this is their Achillies' heel."
John held up the chip he had extracted from the terminator for all to see. The crowd marveled at the spectacle, but John felt he should explain to the uninitiated. After all, this was old hat for him.
"It's one of their CPUs," John said. "We must learn their secrets and use them to our advantage."
John could think of nothing else to say, so he stepped back down off the cabinet. Kyle immediately replaced him.
"We have enough room for about 20 or 25 below, so form a line over there with those guards," Kyle said, gesturing at the far wall, where two heavily armed men stood. "The rest, I'm sorry, but you'll have to find other arrangments."
The crowd murmurred at Kyle's remarks, but obeyed. John thought there would be protests, but gradually realized that these survivors were probably very accustomed to being turned away to fend for themselves.
As the crowd dispersed, two figures emerged that John recognized. The first was Derek, who for the first time seemed genuinely pleased to see John.
"I want to thank you for saving my brother," Derek said, gripping John's hand. " and everyone else. I was wrong about you."
"You were right to be skeptical," John said, smiling. "I would have done the same thing. Apology accepted."
John then turned to regard the other man. Bedell once again.
The two merely stared at each other until Bedell stepped forward an embraced him awkwardly. John wasn't sure how his old classmate would react, so he was somewhat taken aback. He returned the captain's gesture with a couple mild back slaps.
"Well, I guess you vindicated yourself, Connor," Bedell said backing away from him. "Nice work back there."
"Thank you," John replied, uncertain of how much information Bedell had exchanged with Derek, or anyone else, for that matter.
The two men then exchanged questioning glances, but seemed to both decide that this was neither the time or place for that particular discussion.
"I'd love to talk it over with you," John said, "but I'm a little punch-drunk at the moment. Do we have any food?"
"I'll get something for you," Kyle said and scampered off.
"We'll catch up later, Connor," Bedell said. "Besides, I want to try to recruit some of these people."
With that, Bedell ran off to join some of his soldiers, who were already conversing with a group of prospects.
"We knew each other before the war," John explained to Derek.
"Yes, he told me," Derek replied.
"I'm not trying to steal your thunder," John said. "This is your group, so I will comply with your directions."
"Relax," Derek said, almost apologetically. "What you did today is miraculous. I can't compete with that. I don't want to compete with that. I'm no leader anyway. I just did what was necessary for me and Kyle to survive. Some people followed."
"Anyway, this is Bedell's section," Derek added. "We're a recon/savenging group attached to his command—the 132nd."
Of course, the 132nd.
"Well, here's a peace offering," John replied, handing Derek the lone surviving item from their earlier mission—the chocolate-peanut butter cups. They were a little crushed, but still recognizable. "I found what you wanted."
Derek laughed, in spite of himself. It was the first time John had seen his uncle genuinely smile since he arrived.
"I think you'll fit in just fine," Derek said. "Let's get you some real food."
Derek led John through a labyrinth of mutilated hallways and corridors until they came upon a cleverly disguised elevator shaft. It was guarded by two rifle-laiden teenagers and their complimentary German Shepherds. The dogs sniffed at them breifly and yielded for the two to pass as one of the guards handed Derek two bundled lengths of rope.
The top half of the elevator car was gone, but a person could just barely fit between the doors, which had been jammed open. John questioned where this nearly destroyed car could possibly go, but quickly realized that it was just a cover for the real passegeway.
Derek pulled back a metal plate that uncovered a circular hole in the car's floor. A faint light emanated from three floors down.
Derek handed one of the ropes to John, tied the end of his around a metal railing that remained in the elevator and looped it through an ATC hook on his utility belt.
"We're gonna repel down three floors," Derek said, handing John another ATC. "Just follow my lead."
The two repelled down, although John's effort was noticeably more clumsy than Derek's seasoned approach. Yet another harrowing journey in a day filled with them, John thought.