Livin' In The Future
Chapter 3
John-
He had been here, in the future, for 1 1/2 weeks. In that time he understood how much his departure from the past had changed the future, but he had little idea how the future was changing him. For five days now he had been plagued with cramps, and runny stool. His first thought was dysentery, but no one else seemed ill, and back at the Zeira Corp camp they all ate and drank from communal cookware. Here in the 'field' they ate MREs, and drank from the same streams. He had thought that someone, somewhere had taught them good sanitation, and now he knew who that had been.
What John didn't know was that the bacteria that gave him the acne that had plagued him during his early teens was extinct in this time. The last colonies were found in the sebaceous glands of his skin and these were failing. The dust that had been so pervasive in the city, with its cocktail of radioisotopes was inimical to these organisms. Something similar was happening to him on the inside. The 'dust' was everywhere, in the air, the water, the food. Food grown after Judgment Day had the same radioisotopes incorporated in them. When they topped off their canteens and their gallon jugs, they were there. This heightened background radiation was taking its toll. His internal flora and fauna, the bacteria resident in his gut were dying, though there would be enough survivors to keep him alive, but their ranks were being decimated, almost literally. Already his hair and nails were longer, this new growth was distinctly more radioactive then the tissues produced before his arrival. John was changing.
Heading back they skirted Palmdale, again sticking to low hills to its west, but now John knew, or rather understood why. The people there trapped food for the people in Martin's camp. Likely they were sick as well. Back down in the valley, he discovered why the 'runners' so hated this 'route'. If they thought it was hard coming up, and it was hardly a cake walk, then heading back home was a nightmare. The trouble was the forest: the trees, and the shrubs. Most that had survived had been blown over or at least bent. Most of these pointed north. It was like walking through a living or mostly living abatis. They were walking into the forest's teeth.
The shattered and dead trees were, if anything, even more of a hindrance. They made noise. Again they stuck to game trails, but there are very few deer nearly as tall as Kyle or John. To John it seemed as if, every branch, every twig, every unearthed root, snagged at his clothing, at his pack. John understood plainly why they had no machete. Its presence would encourage chopping which would just increase, manifold, the noise they were creating. They progressed perhaps 5 miles the first night. John sat his watch wishing for a welders mask just to keep the branches out of his face. Their camp was sullen and quiet they were covered in scratches and riddled with splinters. With their progress so slowed they would have to watch their water consumption. At their current rate it would take them twice as long to get to the same water they did on their way up. Assuming they didn't slow down any more.
They slowed down even more. Up the valley they walked sometimes crouched. Down the valley they crouched and sometimes crawled. At one point they had crawled for most of a mile and took a much needed respite where they lay. Their passage allowed John time to think. He had found himself trying not to do that. But there were too many things not to think about for him to ignore them all. One of the things was the silence. On their way up, it had been silent was well, there had been the one bird. But they had also seen signs of other animals, deer spore, mountain lion tracks, and the wolves. They had traveled in the past two nights nearly 8 miles with nothing. At one point he thought he smelled wood smoke. At one of their very brief stops he mentioned this to Kyle. Who just nodded at Jorge's look.
They continued in a back breaking crouch. There was little to see. It was dark, and John had to pay close attention to the foliage that was constantly trying to stab him. They stopped. Kyle signaled them forward. Kyle was on one knee ahead of him on his belly was Jorge. Kyle pointed to his eyes: Look. Then he pointed out over Jorge. John saw a can, blackened perhaps with soot, hanging from a branch, a length of string ran from it down along the trunk of the leaning pine to its base, where it cut across their path; 8 feet in front of Jorge. Dalia turned around and kept the palm of her hand on John's back. He would trust her to keep an eye out for any tripwires they might have missed and failed to trigger on their way forward. John kept an eye on Kyle and Jorge to make sure they didn't get too far ahead of them. They retreated back to the north end of this valley.
They were still well within the trees, crouched low, when the tree trunk beside Jorge splintered. John heard the zip and whine of a passing round, as they went flat. At least two more rounds passed over their heads. Then John heard the crack-crack-crack, crack-crack of a weapons report. Without a word Dalia took point. Sloppy, John thought, very amateur to fire so many rounds at a distant, an uncertain target. They split. Dalia and John fell back to the north along their original path. Kyle and Jorge, first went east, and then seemed to move parallel to them. At least, John could hear someone off that way. John pointed Dalia to a shallow depression. It offered them protection and a good view down either side of the ridge that was now to their front. Dalia nodded. John watched almost due south. Dalia watched south and east.
Silence. A shift in the wind brought the smell of wood smoke. 'Smoke' he said. Dalia nodded. Along the top of the ridge John saw two shadows break the skyline, they were silhouetted in the starlight. He couldn't make out colors or facial features he couldn't even tell what direction they were facing. Though he was absolutely certain that neither Kyle nor Jorge would ever do anything like that. He brought his weapon to bear on them. They seemed to be talking. More than half to himself he said: 'I wish I could hear what they were saying.'
There was a brief, sharp pain, on the left side of his head at the base of his ear. If not for the weapon in his hands he would have reached for it. It was like a bug bite, or an injection. Except that you normally don't get 'shots' in the side of your head. But that was not all. Suddenly, he could 'hear'. Suddenly, he could hear everything. Their voices were angry, their accents heavy. One of them had Martin's leprosy damaged lisp. He could hear Dalia breathing beside him. Then he heard the almost thunderous crackle of leaf litter and rotted twigs as she moved her leg into a more comfortable position. He wasn't certain, but he thought he could hear her pulse. He understood that the 'metal bandage' was somehow enhancing his hearing. He was certain, now that the two men ahead of him were not Kyle or Jorge. He brought his weapon up to his shoulder and almost deafened himself when the stock of his rifle brushed against his father's coat. Sotto voce, he said 'turn it down'. It occurred to him then, that the two men were 'supposed' to be seen. They were there to drive their 'quarry' away from the ridge, toward the 'hunters' in the valley.
"John? Is that you talking?" Dalia asked from his left. The volume was normal so he figured that the 'thing' understood him.
"Huh? No. I have two hostiles. I have clear Take them?"
"What?" He heard her turn to look. "You mean up on the ridge? How do you know? How can you know?"
Great. Thanks, Dalia. Just like on the range he thought. 60 odd meters, the wind was in his face. He squeezed. Crack! As the weapon came back down, He fired again. Crack! "Two down" he said. On a certain level it bothered him that Cameron could not have shown less emotional about those two deaths.
"John! Jorge and Kyle are still out there! How..."
"Watch your side!" He hissed as quietly as he could.
She complied.
There was more gunfire to their far right. It was uncoordinated, and sporadic. No, he thought the two on the ridge had been the hunters. These were the ones to drive the prey. Two shadows cut across the base of the ridge to their front. One figure paused, and then caught up with the other. They moved in intervals. That was Kyle and Jorge. He flipped his weapons selector to 'burst'. It didn't have an 'auto' setting. He aimed several degrees behind the tree that the figure had paused beneath. Mostly, to protect his night vision from the flash. Boom! It wasn't the spectacular fireball, from the movies, but it was a sizable blast nonetheless. Something with limbs spun through the air over the trees. He aimed behind the blast and fired three short bursts. He waited. He saw the muzzle flashes; three or four. Then he heard the reports. Semi autos or they were conserving their ammunition. The flashes had been long; they were firing almost perpendicular to John's position. At first he was elated; they didn't know that he and Dalia were here. Then he realized they were still after Kyle and Jorge. He felt a horrible twisting in his gut. They were trying to kill his father! He fired three more bursts. Reloaded. Two muzzle flashes. He fired three more burst. What he wouldn't give for a 40mm grenade launcher! A single muzzle flash, smaller, different angle. He fired another two bursts. Silence.
"Someone's coming" Dalia's voice was still shaky. There was a short sharp whistle. Dalia whistled back. John kept watch on his side. Despite the need to look to see if Kyle was ok.
Jorge lay down next to him. He was breathing heavy. "Was that you guys? You saved our hides!" He patted him on the shoulder.
Kyle knelt in the lowest part of the depression. He looked down both sides of the ridge. "Quiet. I thought the rally point was last night's camp?"
"I was taking him there. Then John found this spot..."
John glanced over his shoulder at Kyle who was looking at back of Dalia head. It was a disapproving look that said: "So the 'civilian' is in charge?"
He looked down at John, looking up at him. The face softened and, almost smiled. "Good ground." He nodded at John. John couldn't keep his face from beaming. He looked out at the woods. He felt ridiculous. Like he was a puppy getting a pat on the head for peeing outside. Beside him Jorge was collecting his 'brass'. Some were still hot. "Ow! Did you get the ones up on the ridge?"
"Yeah," John didn't take his eyes off the woods to their front and right.
"Nice shooting."
"Thanks. Does this happen often?" Out of the corner of his eye John saw Jorge, who was still picking through the weeds for his spent casings pause and look up at Kyle.
"No." Kyle said.
"So what's changed?" He turned and asked Kyle directly.
"I don't know. But we hurt them tonight. Well, you hurt them. They'll be angry. We'll probably have to backtrack to find another way around them. Let's go."
"What about them?"
"Them?"
"Out there."
"We leave them."
"There might be survivors."
"We leave them. Come on. Let's go." They went.
So they backtracked past their previous night's camp. John wondered about their SOPs was the previous camp always the rally point? Was that rule only applicable 'out here'. During the 'move' of Derek's base camp. He didn't know rally points then either. From the stand point of situational security, it made sense, but if he were ever isolated then he'd be in serious trouble. He also noticed that Dalia was lingering farther behind them than usual. They turned west. They were skirting the edge of the 'Angeles National Forest' heading almost due west. They cut across a large valley off at the far end John thought he could discern an overgrown road, possibly some buildings.
They crossed another open valley, and then were back in the hills, the valleys, the bent and toppled trees. They began to bear towards south. Their progress slowed again. John felt better about this. There was sign of game here. Deer spore behind them. Smaller game trails crossing the trail they followed. They stopped. John cleaned his weapon. When he had it back together Kyle got them moving again. Dalia had not yet appeared. John looked him a question but got nothing by way of response. At their second stop Dalia joined them, late. John saw her first. Kyle looked at her as she joined them. Obviously, tired, she slumped to the ground. "Clear?" He asked. She could only nod. Jorge handed her his canteen. John returned his gaze to their back trail.
They topped off their water, but were starting to run low on MRE's. John noticed that no one else seemed to notice. "How much farther", he asked Kyle.
"Another night or two and we'll be back in civilization."
John had to stop himself from laughing.
They spent rest of the night crawling. They traveled a gut wrenching 2.5 miles. Jorge joked that he could see their previous camp. Dalia offered to take everyone's watch since she slept the whole way here. They ate. When the breathing of the two runners slowed, John looked at Kyle. Who crawled over, and leaned his head in close: "What's up?"
"Three days," he said as softly.
Kyle just nodded.
John woke. There was a rumbling sound like thunder, though distant. Part of him wondered why he wasn't wet. Another thought high explosives. He propped himself up on his elbows. Jorge and Dalia were still on watch. Dalia and Kyle were watching off to the east. Jorge was almost watching west.
Jorge, the closest to him, signed 'silence'.
John nodded, rolled onto his belly and crawled towards Kyle.
Kyle leaned close. "Skynet."
John mouthed: "What?"
"Aerial HKs, two may be three. They've been at it for more than an hour."
"How," John mouthed silently.
"Last night's firefight. Skynet has spies everywhere. Listening. Living above ground is risky. Go back to sleep."
John tried. He lay back stared at the pallid sky hearing the rumble, like a drier full of shoes down in the basement. It was a pretty typical dream for John. Someone was chasing him. He was running. Always running. Rarely fast enough. Sometimes in the wrong direction. Sometimes it was his mother's voice. Sometimes it was Cameron's. Sometimes it was the clipped accent of the unnamed terminator of his youth. This time he was running through the woods. There were wolves howling. Then she was there. He could see the gleam of the staples in her cheek. She had the same empty look she had on his birthday.
"John," she said. He saw the gun as she brought it up. He ducked as the barrel passed him. He watched her put to her head. "I feel."
"No!" He went to grab it. It went off.
"Cameron!" He went to her side. He was pawing through her hair, feeling around for the wound. He found it, a perfectly round hole in her head, in her hair. "Her chip," he heard himself say. "It's gone." She was sitting in an office chair in the woods. The wolves had surrounded them.
One wolf said, "He didn't take her chip she gave it to him."
Another said: "John," and gestured with its snout behind him.
Speared on a tree branch was a note: "I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry, John."
"Coming James," The first wolf asked.
This last wolf growled at John, then lunged.
He woke. The sun was setting, they were breaking camp.
They were moving, perhaps a mile, mile and a half. Dalia was late again. Jorge was getting worried. She came in, not from their back trail but from the south. "We're being followed."
"How many," asked Kyle.
"12-15?"
"ETA?"
"I took them out to the 'open' valley. They will have to come back in through the trees. Fifteen, twenty minutes."
John gestured. There's high ground over there. They all looked at him.
Kyle gave him an approving smile, and then nodded. We catch them as they come up."
The two runners looked aghast. "And if, if they aren't dispersed?" Asked Jorge.
"The ridge curves," answered Kyle. "We pick off their leaders from the front, and enfilade the survivors, from there." Kyle sent John and Dalia to the curving northern ridge. Kyle and Jorge continued on to the taller, but shallower ridge to the east. They would be separated by most of a half mile, of open terrain. Neither runner would be risked to carry messages back and forth. The back side of either ridge was unknown to them, and so there was no guarantee of support. John found shelter less than a third of the way up the ridge he placed Dalia 5 meters down and 10 meters to his right. They had a good view of their 'rest stop'. The sky went pink with the rising sun.
They were settled for perhaps 5 minutes when Dalia whistled him. He looked she signed back '930'. John turned to look at his 9 o' clock and saw the flash of reflected light. Kyle and Jorge were in position then. Jorge had worried that the 'hill people' might come up along this ridge. So Dalia was watching that open flank. John had his doubts, if we had 'hurt' them as bad as it sounded they would be coming for revenge, he expected them to come straight in, moving as fast as they could to catch us off guard.
Another sharp whistle, Dalia signed '2'.
John looked; their 'camp' was at about 1 o' clock. Just to north of it, he saw a figure. It moved warily. Another figure appeared well south of the first. The second moved into their site. This one waved, three more came up. The first two, John guessed, were 'scouts' they followed their trail east towards Kyle and Jorge. It was the 'obvious' trail the one they wanted them to take, it was the one with the shallower forgiving slope, and it was the one with trip wired explosives. They were less than a third of the way there, when they turned. They found John and Dalia's track. They hadn't had time to loop around the ridge, so they cut across the valley. This was the sheerer and steeper path, the harder path, but the one without the veteran soldier at its end, or the trip wire mines along its length. They were perhaps a third of the way to John and Dalia, when the second party arrived there were seven in this group. The first five retreated back to the others.
There were twelve now, they were in range of John and Dalia, but only at the extreme effective range of Kyle and Jorge. The first two were gesturing, John was about to ask the 'metal' to increase his hearing, when another five showed up, these also came from the south, also following Dalia's trail. Then there was a whistle. There was something different in it. John turned to look Dalia didn't need to sign anything this time. John brought his weapon up and fired. John rose to a crouch, and fired two more times. The first one, clutched the right side of his chest, spun dropped to his knees, then tumbled off the ridge. He skidded off the rocks and out of sight.
Dalia fired a burst, then a second. John watched the four remaining duck. They retreated onto themselves. John worked his way up slope. Something zipped passed him. Something else smashed against the rocky ridge face beside him. He felt the sting of the fragmented stone. This only encouraged him to climb faster. "Fire down into the valley!" He called out to Dalia. He dropped to one knee slipped his weapon into 'burst' mode, and fired.
The second 'hunter' stepped back into the third, in one hand he had his rifle by the barrel, and he was already dropping his weapons shattered stock. Their scared, John thought to himself. Another something zipped past him. Something snatched at his left sleeve, pulling his arm down, as he fired another burst. The second hunter was screaming his knee buckled under him. They were close enough that John could hear him. He had dropped the other half of his wrecked rifle and was clutching his wrecked leg. The third had long hair, and had slung his weapon to his shoulder he grabbed the wounded hunter under the armpits to pull him up, to get him out of the fight. He was bent almost double. Both of them were shielding John from the forth.
They were bunched up, John thought, I have them. He felt himself grin he stepped towards them and fired another burst. The third hunters head exploded into the chest of the second, he collapsed backward onto the feet of the fourth, his torso suddenly freed from the weight of his head, slammed back into that man's legs, tangling them. Blood and more solid pieces fountained up into forth hunter's chest. This last hunter almost threw his weapon and was screaming as he wiped at the gore in his face. John lined up his shot and fired another burst into his chest.
It was only then that he heard Dalia's almost frantic gunfire. Spray and pray, he thought.
"You... you killed them. All... all of them." She said without turning, as he came up beside her. She reloaded and continued firing. John wasn't sure she was even aiming.
He looked down there were a lot of them. They were in a long skirmish line. "Come on. We need to move, we are too exposed here." He could hear the crackle and pop of gunfire from down slope now. He grabbed Dalia. To their left was a line of trees, it was their fallback position. Their gear was there. He thought that if they could make it there it might screen them from the hunters. "Move!" Dust was kicking up around them, the shrubs twitched and shook. He could feel the impacts of splintered rock against his pant legs. There was almost a rain of twigs and leaves from above them.
The 'line' moved with them. But it moved too far. They had just gotten to the stand of trees when John saw the second farthest man on their left stumble and fall. John stumbled as well; something had almost pulled his right foot out from under him. They lay low in the leaf litter. Peeking up John saw one of the scouts gesturing to the ridge where Kyle and Jorge were. Two men were talking to the scout. One of these pointed to the taller, eastern ridge too. This time two 'hunters' stepped out of the line to fire on them. "Dalia" John said. "Those two men, the ones talking to the scout? Shoot at them."
Dalia was wild eyed, but she nodded. Her hands were trembling as she brought her weapon to her shoulder.
Something pinched John's ear. He winced in pain. There was a sound, above Dalai's sporadic gunfire. It was a mechanical sound. He touched her shoulder, she stopped shooting. Then, beneath the ringing in his ears, he could hear it, a strange humming sound. Like an engine?
"HK! It's an HK! Here! John, John it's an HK!"
Three explosions ripped across the hunter's line. Bodies were tossed around. Patches of dry grass began to burn some of the burning patches were the bodies.
Above them was a buzzing sound its tone changed as it flew passed. More explosions. The line scattered. Through the canopy John could make out a silver fuselage and short stubby swept back, wings. There seemed to be 'ducted' fans at the wing tips. There was a flash, bright enough to cast the shadow of the overhead branches down on them. Then a sound like metal sliding against metal. There were more explosions, down in the valley. The hill people ran. Twice as they re-crossed the valley heading south, the hunters tried to form up and fire at the HK. The HK broke these up. For twenty minutes the HK pursued them. They never had a chance. The explosions became more distant, about thirty minutes after the fight started it was over. John got binoculars out of his pack. He saw little in the way of movement.
"We can't stay here, the bodies..."
"Right," John agreed. "Will attract predators. Sleep for now, I'll take first watch."
"What about the rally point?"
"It's out in that field. Let Kyle and Jorge come and find us."
It was an hour passed sunrise when Kyle and Jorge arrived. They didn't want risk the valley either. They had walked around the curve of the ridge. Together they walked back their position. Retrieved their explosives, and then set out. They risked moving in daylight, only because they didn't want to be near this valley come twilight. They followed the ridge south, and then west as it curved back out. They stayed to the high ground knowing that the retreating hunters and their pursuing HK would be down in the valley.
The sunset was a gory red, John thought it looked like the horizon was on fire. They had gone perhaps 6 miles, following the ridge, straight line distance they were probably only 2 miles from the valley. They could hear the howls, already.
Kyle decided to march through the night. They made their way down to the valley, back down into the thicker scrub and trees. Their progress was slower, but their route was a lot less circuitous. They stopped two more times that night they could still hear the distant howling. They camped at dawn.
Their meal was quiet, none of the usual, soft spoken banter. Which was fine with John, he took the silence as an opportunity to strip and clean his weapon. He wanted to cleaner it sooner but didn't like the idea of being so close to a fight with a disassembled rifle. After eating the two runners went immediately to sleep. Kyle and John took first watch. John was exhausted. He had pulled all nighters before, even doubles, but typically he didn't follow them up with a cross country forced march over rough terrain. This was going to be... difficult. He looked out over their back trail, and started with state capitals, in alphabetical order. Alabama, Montgomery. Alaska, Juno. Arizona, Phoenix. Arkansas, Little Rock. It struck him then that it was entirely possible, probably likely, that none of these cities existed. California, Sacramento.
"John?" Kyle was beside him.
He looked at him, his father. "Yeah?"
"State capitals?"
"Was I saying them out loud?"
"Well. Mumbling. What happened out there?"
John thought about it. He had killed before. With his bare hands even, but nothing like this. "They came along the ridge, just like Jorge said." He was looking out over the valley. He looked at his dad. "They weren't very good. They were too close. They were too big of a target. Too easy a target."
"They are hunters, not fighters. It's different."
John nodded.
"What did you do?"
"I killed them."
Kyle nodded this time.
"They were the same. They were all the same."
"What do you mean John? What do you mean?"
"They all looked alike." John shivered. He could think of one reason they looked alike.
"Those hilltop fortresses are usually family based."
John nodded. It made sense now, what he saw out there. "The first one was the oldest. He was their leader." Elder brother may be a younger uncle. "When he went off the ridge, the others panicked. They... they were children. They were may be fifteen, sixteen years old." John could hear the tremor in his voice. He had to shut it down. He looked away, out across the bent scrub and crooked trees.
"How old are you John? How old do you think Dalia is? How old is Allison?"
John opened his mouth.
Kyle cut him off. "It is the same. It's exactly the same thing."
"The third one," he said without preamble. "The third one was a girl. She was just trying to help her brother or her cousin, and I blew her head off." His vision blurred. He felt the strong urge to vomit, but he rules superseded that.
"John..." He felt a hand on his shoulder. He thought distantly that he could have handled it, but for the contact. It was too much.
He sobbed, quietly. He ducked his head into the stock of his rifle, and a man who barely knew him, yet was his father squeezed his shoulder as he wept. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but what could I do? I had to kill them, right? If I hadn't killed them. They would have killed me. She would have blown my head off, right?" John calmed himself down. He caught his breath.
"Right."
"Yeah, sorry."
"I'm sure he was a good man."
"Who?"
"Your father."
John just looked at him.
"You called me 'dad' twice."
"What?"
"You said: 'I had to kill them, right dad?' and 'She would have blown my head off, right dad?'"
"I did?"
"Yeah." Kyle smile at the bent shrubs. "It's ok. We probably have a lot in common." Kyle looked at him. "You gonna be ok?"
"Yeah. I'm... I'm fine."
Kyle crawled back to his side of the camp.
John dozed. He started awake. He looked, Jorge, and Dalia were keeping watch. John closed his eyes. It was a dream he was half expecting. They were on the ridge. He heard Dalia's whistle, and he saw the hunters. John brought up his weapon and fired. The older man dropped right there. Sat down, in the middle of a fire fight and looked at him. He held up his bloody hands. It was Kyle.
"No!" John ran to him. He slid to a halt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"
"John, you shot me. You said I was your father and you shot me."
"I thought you were one of them." He motioned with his head, and as he looked up. He saw them, the hunters. The second hunter was young may be 7 or 8, his cloths were much too big for him. He was looking at the two halves of his rifle, a cork dangled from a piece of string tied to the weapons barrel. He looked like he was about to cry. The third was looking right at him. It was Cameron.
"He is," she said and shot him.
The change in the terrain was abrupt. There was the thick fence of trees pointed in their faces. Then scrub, high enough to limit their visibility, but sparse enough to give them no real cover. The valley had opened up as well. They were still bunched up pretty tight when John recalled similar terrain when they caught a hint of the mountain lion. They had gone another slow paced 6 miles or so when Kyle signaled a stop.
The weeds ahead of them were about hip high. The demarcation was so sudden that John couldn't believe it was natural. They knelt at the edge of the grass, still beneath the scrub. Across nearly half a click was the wreckage of tract housing.