Livin' In The Future

by Ottovw

John Connor is in the future. He came to find Cameron's Chip. He must deal with uncertain and unlikely allies. Cope with unknown, and unforeseen enemies. Fight the War Against The Machine. AND if that wasn't enough he STILL has to save the World.

7. Chapter 7

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 7

The Priest-

Brandon wasn't happy. John wondered if he ever was. Kyle had split up his fire team volunteers. It only made sense. There were eight of them. Three were current or former runners. The 'runners' grouped together would easily outpace the fire team members. The first group was Tyler, Brandon, Hernandez, and Jorge. The second was Kyle, Hill, Allison and John. They ran. They were moving south.

At their first rest stop, Allison approached John. She opened her mouth to speak. John put his finger to his lips, and then tapped his ear.

Her eyes widened, there was fear there. "Here?" She signed.

John grinned, almost laughed, the sign for 'here' was very reminiscent of someone crudely miming breast, and John was, after all, a teen-aged boy. He just nodded.

Allison noticed his grin, and stuck her tongue out at him, and used the military hand sign for 'child'. John grabbed her shoulders and positioned himself between her and Jorge. She glanced past him, made eye contact with John and nodded. She moved her hands down, shielding further their conversation. "Something. Wrong." She paused.

She was, John guessed, picking her words knowing how limited his vocabulary was.

One he didn't know. "Building. Broken."

He signed back a question mark, and repeated "building" and "broken".

She looked at him thinking. She smiled, and tapped the top of her wrist. Repeated again: 'building' and 'broken'.

John thought: Something. Wrong. Time. Building. Broken. "Something has been wrong since HQ explosion." John nodded.

Tyler and her group took off, with them went Jorge.

After ten more minutes. Kyle whistled them over. John leaned over as they gathered at the steps, and whispered: "Be careful."

Allison looked at him, nodded and signed: "Always."

As dawn began to lighten the sky they stopped at a bunker called Foxtrot 8. They weren't far from downtown here. Somewhere to their south and west was the Zeira Corp building. With a last look John caught the tops of the broken towers lit by the sun.

Kyle went to talk to bunker's CO. The look on Brandon's face told him that this was not something that happened often. John and the rest were sent to the showers, this bunker had warm water, and a note telling him 'not to drink it'. In the 'cafeteria' John noticed that this bunker didn't have the sloping floors of a parking deck. The 'floors' weren't nearly as broad as a parking deck, either. He liked it from most anywhere in the 'dining hall' he could see the stairs.

Dinner was venison stew with but with rice, not barley. There was something else different. Onions or garlic may be. John's mom had never been much of a cook the use of seasonings always intrigued him. Kyle joined them late. Brandon leaned in to ask him a question. Kyle just waved him off. They went to 'Guest housing'.

They slept, in John's case, poorly. He had too many thoughts in his head. Too much was happening too fast, and his grasp of the situation seemed far too tenuous. The one thing he understood plainly was that he was running again. They woke had their usually soupy 'Breakfast' and were off again, at dusk.

The terrain was changing again, it was subtle. The buildings were still empty shells and rubble piles, but they were somehow different. By the time they made their first rest stop John had figured it out. Impact craters, there were none here. There were no piles of bones. There were even plants growing in the cracks of sidewalks and streets. There had been no heavy fighting here. They were in another "no man's land".

At their second rest stop, they ate. There was no bunker here. This was the first time, since they came back from the mountains that they ate in the 'field'. This time when they left Kyle's group was up front, and Allison lead them.

They took a third rest stop. Allison signed to Kyle. "Something. Wrong."

Kyle signed back. "?"

"No. Metal."

John thought about that. It wasn't entirely true, but in any case why would the 'lack' of metal be an issue? Did Skynet routinely patrol this area? Or have things changed this much since Allison had last passed through here?

When the second group arrived Kyle relayed the message. They took off again. This got John thinking too, it would be dawn soon.

They stopped a fourth time the building if it could called that was open to the sky. When Tyler's group arrived, Kyle spread them out to form a perimeter. Allison said not to. "Stay close," she said. She went to one corner of the building and, tapped a complicated tattoo on an exposed pipe with flat of her knife. They looked at her. "We wait." John found a semi comfortable looking support for the missing roof. He sat down beside it. Allison sat beside him. The code sounded familiar to John. So he played over and over in his head. Then he realized it was a song. He looked at Allison, "La Bamba?"

She smiled, "they used to play it a lot down in Baja."

They were there twenty minutes it was bright enough to see colors. Kyle seemed on edge. John didn't think it was because they were so exposed. Brandon, on the other hand, didn't seem his usually annoying self. He hadn't made a single complaint. He seemed almost relaxed. From the pipe, not three feet away, was a series of taps, too fast for John to follow. Allison stood up she said, "Keep your hands away from your weapons, please. They are here."

It was a boy, in a threadbare too large t-shirt, which depicted a cartoonish grim reaper riding a motor cycle. His pants were cut off BDU bottoms. He had a red bandana tied around his neck, and an AK, that John could not imagine him shooting without being knocked down. His skin was dark, his hair a spiky mass. He glared at them. Then his face broke into a smile. "Allison!"

There was a muffled slapping sound. "Estupido! Why don't you just send Skynet an invitation?" A slightly larger and older boy said in Spanish. They were obviously siblings. He was much more serious. He continued to glare at them, but he nodded his 'hola' to Allison.

"Who is stupid now," continued the younger boy in Spanish. He was rubbing the back of his head. "Smell you're hand I haven't bathed in two weeks!"

Then a taller man appeared. "Allison," he said by way of greeting. To everyone else he nodded and said, "Let's go." It was Enrique, but an Enrique ten years younger, then John had ever known him. He noticed John's stare. He put out his hand. "John? Roberto," he introduced himself. They shook hands, John mechanically. "I've heard so much about you. I'm so glad to finally meet you." His English was free of any accent. Unlike Enrique, he had been born and raised here. "We have to get going. Sorry it took so long, but the truck." He switched into a pantomime Hispanic accent: "He would no start." He grinned at them.

It was a truck. Just a pick up with a flatbed made of scrap wood, and pipes. Roberto, Alex, and Allison sat in the cab. As punishment for not bathing Esteban was stuck with the rest of them in the back. When he discovered John spoke Spanish, even with his 'horrible accent'. He would not stop talking. His rifles name was 'Tigre' it was scratched into its wooden stock. They hit a bump and John looked over his shoulder, through the glassless window into the cab. Allison was watching him, smiling. She mimed a hand puppet, and pointed at Esteban.

'Great,' John mouthed back silently. Esteban was explaining to him in some detail how, when he was old enough to fight, he and 'Tigre' were going to teach the metal a thing or two.

They arrived at a place called Lakewood Bunker. It was similar in many respects to the Bunkers John had been to before, except this bunker had more than just an entrance above ground. They passed through 3 layers of chain link fencing. He looked at the broad smooth voids between the fences. There was at least fifty feet between each layer. There were signs 'peligroso' on either side of the unpaved road. He looked at Kyle. Who mouthed back 'mines'. At the corners of the large square were short squat towers, they only just cleared the fifteen feet, John guessed, tall fences. John noticed that though there were lights, and a roof, there didn't seem to be space for guards.

He looked at the fencing. Unless those were antitank mines they would not have kept Cameron out. He had seen firsthand how little effect a claymore had on metal. He looked up at the open sky he thought about the satellites that they had taken such pains to conceal themselves from. He thought about Aerial HKs. He saw nothing to defend against either. He looked around at the wide parade grounds. Nothing protruded above the surface. Inside the fence were slit trenches. Rifle pits? The truck passed between two half moon shaped pits. They were set well inside the fence. In one he saw a hatch. It could be service from below. Convenient, but it implied that someone on top could get access to the inside. What or who, more than likely, were they expecting to be attacked by? Massed infantry?

Recessed into the ground but not underground was what John could only call a 'motor pool'. There were fifteen or twenty assorted vehicles here was the missing camouflage netting. As he stood he looked at the other vehicles, he was lingering, intentionally trying to be the last person off the truck. Many like this truck had an upright pipe in the back. He looked at it. It was a weapons mount. As he stepped down he looked back at the cab, yes, there was a roll cage. He smiled at the thought. Walking away from the truck John did a quick headcount. He was one short. In one corner he saw what could only be trailers for heavy mortars. Good. They went underground.

They entered a hallway, ahead were a pair of large double doors. There were four armed men and two dogs. The dogs were not the German shepherd dogs preferred by the Human Resistance in the 'western' sector, but Pit Bulls. Red nose pits to be exact. They stopped in front of the doors. John noticed they were in a rectangle bounded by yellow and black stripes, as wide as the hall and may be 15 feet deep. Two of the guards and one of the dogs were at the far end facing out. A bell rang, and strobes inset in the walls flashed. Behind them was a 'thump'. The room was briefly plunged into darkness. "Please stand clear of the doors", someone said in heavily accented English. Pale slightly blue lights lit the room. John turned to look. Heavily reinforced doors had closed he could see where they had been recessed into the walls. John looked around. He did another head count, and still was not happy with results. He put his closed fist out to the dog at the doors ahead of them. Its tail thumped happily. From the thick and heavily spiked collar hung a small metal tag that said, 'Daisy'. Another bell rang, muffled by the closed doors. Again the strobes flashed. The inner doors opened towards them. The pale lights switched off.

Directly ahead of them was the armory. They walked up to it. Roberto and the two boys checked in their weapons. Without comment both Allison and Brandon checked their weapons in, the rest waited on Kyle's cue. John just stared. Behind the Hispanic woman at the counter was a wall mounted rack of chargers. There was space for 50 walkie talkies. Roberto misunderstood his stare. "Don't worry John we are pretty strict about their usage. Mostly un-coded traffic and maintenance work. We keep the encrypted line-of-sight communications equipment secured down in the vault.

John just nodded. He looked at the back of Allison's head. Why did they need runners if they had radios? "Line-of-sight" Roberto had said. Geography, he thought, the tumbled buildings, the debris fields, anything much more than a block away would be out of range.

They were taken to 'guest housing'. It had its own showers. John kept looking around. He had other reasons, but he noticed things; this bunker didn't have the modular walls of the other bunkers and like the foxtrot bunker they visited it didn't have the sloping floors. This was no parking deck.

He thought about the 'air lock'. The building was neat and tidy. More than clean, he had seen no holes cut into the walls. There were no loose wires strung along the ceiling, no bare bulbs, or dangling fluorescent tubes to duck under. No aging posters on the walls advertising; soft drinks, TV shows, or movies. There were functional vents in the walls. This bunker had been purpose built. The thought awed him.

He took his shower. They had given him new BDUs with his name on them. They still smelled of mothballs. He went back to his bunk to pack his old BDUs when he noticed that their 'lost sheep' had returned.

"Jorge." John said, as he sat on his own bunk. "Did you get lost?"

Jorge was sitting on the opposite bunk he was still wearing his old faded and frayed BDU top. "This is certainly a large facility." He smiled. John studied it. It looked right, but then 'looks' are something, it would be good at. The name tag said: "J. Miraflor." It bothered John that he never noticed it before.

"So, Tyler is our medic?" John asked smiling.

And right on cue, Jorge, also smiling replied, "I was pulling your leg."

John gave a quick glance around. They were alone. He leaned in close he opened his mouth to speak.

Jorge leaned in, and cut him off. "I was pulling your leg, John." There was something in his smile this time. Not really a threat, just a warning. "Remember that, I was pulling your leg."

John leaned back, "right." He wasn't smiling anymore.

Allison walked in. "John, there you are." Her sentence started out enthusiastically enough but ended weak. And then as if nothing was wrong, "hey Jorge!"

"Hey, Allison," Jorge responded, still smiling, but he never looking away from John.

"Um, we're all out in the 'common' Roberto is waiting to take us to dinner."

They were fed chicken, not venison. John was surprised that no one else noticed Jorge's return. He also decided that Allison was quite the actor. The dining area was loud, far louder than any John had previously visited. Their own table was quiet. John could plainly see the look of disapproval on Kyle's face. Roberto was eating with them. He was quiet as well. He spoke only to Brandon, and leaned close when he did so. The cafeteria had obvious three access points. John felt uncomfortable with his back to the kitchens. That's where the food line was. He had no idea what was behind the kitchens themselves, his eyes shifted from entrance to entrance. He said not a word.

Afterwards they headed back to the 'guest quarters' to sleep. The rooms were very similar in layout to the 'Company' billets at the Delta seven bunker there was a common area and a room for each platoon. Even though they were only the size of a single squad they were given an entire… 'Suite' was the only word John could think of.

John didn't sleep very well, there was too much to think about. On top of everything else what he saw here bothered him. Perhaps it was a 'rear' area. But if this bunker was purpose built, then what was the purpose? They had radios. They had functioning electronic devices. The guard towers had to be remotely operated. That meant close circuit television which in John's mind implied that the other surface defenses were or could easily be isolated from the rest of the bunker. That made more sense. One thing John knew for certain, this bunker had not been designed to fight machines. The only conciliation had seen for a cyborg were the airlock doors, and unless the gun ports he saw in there were backed by plasma rifles, then all they could hope to do was isolate it.

Roberto came back for them that afternoon. He had only given them about six hours, which was fine with John he had, may be, slept two. He escorted them to breakfast. When they were finished Roberto asked Kyle if he and the rest of the squad could return to their quarters. The bunker CO would like to meet with John and Allison.

The office was fifteen feet by thirty feet. There was only one entrance. Along one wall was a series of filling cabinets. Opposite this were a small book shelf and a pair of matching chairs. They faced each other, as if a low table and a chess set were missing. At the far end was a tidy desk. There were no pictures. No name plate. Over which was hung a map of Los Angeles. John took all this in from the doorway. Allison took his hand, and drew him farther into the room. It occurred to him then, that they were alone. This would probably be his only chance.

The door was open but John could not expect any more privacy than this. She turned him so that he faced the door. He smiled that she knew him well enough to give him that. It wasn't the first time. He noticed it when she picked out their bunks at the Delta seven bunker.

It made him feel bad for what he was about to do. Her hands were on either side of his face. She smiled. He smiled back. His hands were on her waist. She leaned in to kiss him. He leaned away. Her face had a puzzled look.

Things where moving, and he needed to understand, he need to know where peoples allegiances were. He was still stung by the mistakes he had made with Riley. He wasn't going to do that again. So with as much scorn as he could muster he said. "Did she put you up to this?"

There was a loud crack. "John Connor! Do not talk about your mother in that fucking tone!"

He had expected a response, but the ferocity caught him off guard.

"She didn't 'put me up to this'! You did! You did this!" She yelled at him. He was stunned. When she had wept for lost friends she did so, so softly he doubted anyone more than ten feet away would have noticed. "You're the one who walked into a fucking bunker and told the whole damned world:" She deepened her voice here, put her arms on her hips, stuck out her chest, posing like some comic book superhero and said: "I'm John Connor. I'm the fucking savior of man fucking kind!"

"Allison Young. How many times have we talked about your temper?" The voice came from the open door and had a noticeable Spanish accent.

The change was sudden and dramatic. Before her head dropped, John saw the look of disappointment on her face. Not directed at the speaker, but at herself. The door closed.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to John."

"I'm sorry, John."

"I'm sorry, too." His hand was still on his cheek where she had slapped him.

"Buenos dias, John." The priest said from the door.

"Buenos dias, Father." He was in all black; he had his 'roman collar' on. He still wore a beard. Peppered now like his hair with almost as much silver as black. There were more lines, but the eyes were the most different more care worn, may be a little tired.

"Come Allison, come. It has been a long time since we spoke." He had his hand out to her. She was still facing the wrong way but turned and walked to the chairs.

And John understood. His mother had never been religious, but he had spent enough time in Catholic countries to recognize a confessional. He only now noticed the crucifix above the door. There was nowhere to go. The room was small the door was shut. He didn't think they wanted him wandering the halls. He retreated to the desk, and the map.

He looked up at the map, to at least give the appearance that he wasn't listening. It was a Metro system map, and someone had gone through the effort of hand painting on a large piece of acrylic, which had been bolted to the wall.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. This is my first confession in 6 months."

"Has it been so long," Father Bonilla interrupted.

"Yes, Father. I've tried to come out this way, but…"

"But the war," he finished for her. "Remember Allison, what good is winning the war, if the cost is you're immortal soul?" It reminded John of a conversation he had had with his mother, on his birthday. "This is our mission, John. If we forget that, then we are lost."

"I've missed mass," Allison confessed.

Another layer of acrylic was on top of the map. On this was painted a grid, across the top were the 'ordinals' 1-9. Down along the left side were the letters A-M. John smiled whoever had painted the grid had embellished the open ends with curlicues. They reminded him of hand painted pin stripping.

"I've lost my temper," Allison said.

John traced his passage: From Downtown, they didn't have the 'inset' detail map of downtown, to the Golf seven bunker, the Foxtrot nine bunker, and then north east off the map to see Martin.

"Many times," the priest asked.

"Many times," she agreed.

"Like today?"

"No Father, most times I can keep it inside."

"But you still have angry thoughts."

"Yes, Father."

John traced their journey back through the suburbs to the Delta seven bunker and then 'guestimated' the locations of the 130th's headquarters and supply depot. That right, there, he guessed was the crater where he and Allison had kissed.

"Were these thoughts more recent or months ago," the priest asked. John found his voice to be soothing, almost hypnotic.

"More recently," Allison conceded.

"Why?"

"He can be so infuriating!" Allison hissed. John was no longer 'soothed'.

"Allison," the priest said calming her.

"I'm sorry, Father."

John refocused on the map he traced their route, from the Delta seven bunker to the smaller Foxtrot eight bunker to here: Lockwood. Somewhere off the map to the east. May be, over by the file cabinets, would be the desert, and his mother. Then his eyes wandered back across L.A. over to the coast: to Long Beach and to Cameron.

"Anything else?"

"I've had impure thoughts."

John almost coughed he had to stop himself from turning around. He decided to examine the maps very ornate compass rose. He leaned in. It was very nice.

"I see. Anything else?"

"No, Father."

"You're 'act of contrition'."

Allison recited by rote: "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you…"

John missed rest of Allison's recitation, and most of the priest's response when he turned to his left. Painted on the wall, was a 'Table of Organization'. It listed, down to companies. The units and their commanders, of the 'Eastern Sector' of the human resistance, it listed two divisions. There had been some corrections, but according to the date, the 'table' was almost thirteen years old. Attrition, he guessed.

As his gazed reached the top of the chart, his head went light, and his knees buckled, he thought he might faint. He caught himself on the edge of the desk. Someone gasped, and it took him a moment to realize it had been himself. Right there, literally, in front of God, and everyone:

"In over all command: John Connor".

He just stared. He couldn't move. He couldn't blink. Behind him, as if nothing at all had happened Allison's confession came to a close. He regained his composure, sort of.

"Allison for your penance: For missing Mass ten Hail Mary's; for striking John, twenty more; for cursing another ten."

"Thank you, Father."

John felt the priest stepped up behind him. "It is every impressive, no?"

Allison prayed: "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

"Very," John said it was barely a breath it was all he could do.

"We don't include the 'western sectors' division as we have only nominal control over it and its actions."

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

John just nodded, but he remembered that all of the brigades in the 'west' were numbered beginning with '1' (125th, and the 130th). He couldn't believe that it was entirely coincidental that all of the 2nd division brigades started with a '2' and that all of the 3rd division brigades started with a '3'.

He turned his head and looked at Father Bonilla and said, "But you do supply them."

"Hail Mary…"

The priest looked down from the chart. "How did you know?"

"They are very," he thought for second for a polite word. "Independent and contentious, in the 'west', but they are also very similar. They all have the same uniforms. They eat the same food. They use the same weapons. They have to get them from the same place. They have to get them from you."

"…full of grace…"

The priest just gave him a wry smile.

A hand gripped his shoulder and turned him to the map. The priest traced an arc that started near the coast, far to the north it bowed out north of downtown and curved back inland just south and east of downtown. "The western sector," he said.

"…the Lord is with thee…"

"What is the disposition of the 'west'?"

The priest circled an irregular area centered near downtown. "The 130th," he said "under Perry." Slightly north of that and west was "the 125th under Davis", farther west and north was "the 143rd under Tran" he tapped the map as he said the name John found his emphasis here odd. The 143rd was at the center of the arc, almost due north, was "the 117th under Bell", and at the far end nearest Serrano Point was "the 158th under Wills."

"…blessed are you…

There was a gap two grid squares wide, perhaps 10 miles, then he traced a rectangle. "The eastern sector," he said. John noticed it was well west of Lockwood.

"…and blessed is the fruit…"

His hand traced a line perhaps 5 miles deep along the entire coast: "Metal."

John looked at him, "metal? Not Skynet?"

The priest smiled. "They told me you were smart! Something strange has been happening for two weeks now. The metal fight with metal."

"Holy Mary…"

John thought back two weeks ago he was on his way north to meet Martin.

"What happened to Martin?" He was still looking at the map.

"Martin?" The priest seemed to think. "Martin Beddel?"

"…Mother of God…"

"Yes."

"You've been to see him?"

John didn't respond it seemed obvious to him that Martin had not come down to see him.

"Your mother will not be happy to hear that."

"…pray for us…"

"Why not," John asked trying not sound like a child who snuck out to meet a friend nobody liked, but there it was.

For the first time, Father Bonilla seemed uncomfortable. "There were problems with his 'organization'," he said softly.

"…at the hour of…"

"What do you mean his 'organization'?"

"There were security problems with his 'cell'." The priest reiterated.

"Wait. I don't understand. What do you mean by 'his cell?' "

"Amen."

"He didn't tell you?" The priest seemed to consider this. "After all these years…" he said to himself. He looked at John. "I never thought the problem was malice. You see, I thought Martin was just too trusting, too open. I always thought the problem was his wife. They were supposed to be on 'birth control'…" He misinterpreted John's confused look. "I know, but you can only tell them so many times. If they won't listen then they won't." He continued "…when they had their 'inconveniently timed' child." The priest crossed himself.

John interrupted before the priest could go on. "All Martin told me was that he and some classmates, and their families tried to wait out Judgment Day in the woods."

Father Bonilla just looked at him. "Allison."

"I'm sorry, Father. 'Hail Mary…'"

"He didn't tell you about: Ellison; About his 'cell'; About Abilene?"

"Ellison? James Ellison, the F.B.I. agent?" John was really confused now.

"Former agent," the priest corrected. He sat down on the edge of his desk.

"…blessed is the fruit…"

"Your mother put Ellison in charge of 'eastern operations'."

"What?"

"He had family in the east," the pries said by way of explanation. "And so he had a ready excuse to travel out that way. We didn't want to raise undue suspicion."

"What?"

"All contacts had to be face to face. There was evidence that the internet had been compromised."

"Jesus."

"What?"

"Some argued that 'cell phones' should be safe, but your mother didn't trust them. At one point we fell back to letter writing, but secure encryption against a foe like Skynet proved cumbersome with pen and paper."

"Holy Mary…"

"Wait. Stop." He almost said: 'Time out' but he caught himself. There were so many thoughts scampering around his head. He picked the one that stood out the most. "Ellison and my mom worked together?"

"…Mother of God…"

Father Bonilla smiled. "There were… disagreements."

John just nodded, he almost smiled. Whenever his mother was involved there were 'disagreements'. He was pretty certain she could disagree with herself.

"Amen."

Without turning, the priest said: "Don't rush Allison. We will still be here when you are done."

"Thank you, Father. Hail Mary…"

"Please, Father. I need to understand. Start at the beginning."

The priest explained: Ellison had set up cells throughout the eastern seaboard. Each three person cell operated independently. Only one person in each cell knew Ellison, or even knew why they were performing their assigned tasks. Still John recognized the risk the former agent had been taking.

"What was Martin's cells mission?"

"Each member of his cell had their own mission. They were unrelated. It seemed safest. Martin's task was to rent, and then secure a warehouse. He was the only person in his 'cell' who knew its location."

"Abilene."

"Yes. Abilene."

"And Skynet nuked it."

"Yes. Allison, once more and I add another decade."

"I'm sorry, Father. 'Hail Mary…'"

"What was in that warehouse?"

The priest looked away shaking his head. "Pharmaceuticals, drugs," he said finally.

John sighed. "It wouldn't have mattered would it?"

"Blessed is the fruit…"

He looked up at John, "for Martin? No, they would have been long out of date or spent by the time he got 'sick' but they could have helped so many others."

"…of thy womb…"

"Were the rest of his cells' tasks successful?"

"Oh, yes. We have automobiles because of them. One of them purchased large numbers of automobile computer modules. The other bought huge quantities of powdered milk. The modules were sunk in the Sea of Cortez, inside shipping containers. The milk, I think was stored in salt mines in Nevada."

"How could they afford to do that? They were soldiers."

"Holy…"

"They couldn't but Zeira Corp. could."

John just blinked at him. "Zeira Corp?"

"Ellison became Savannah Weaver's legal guardian. They liquidated Zeira Corp. and used the money to build 'the resistance'."

"…Mother of God…"

"Wait. They built 'the resistance' before the war?

"They tried. They assembled people. Put aside supplies. But Skynet still hurt us, badly."

"…pray for us…"

"The extended bombings," John added.

"Yes. The ones who moved first, the most motivated, the most driven, were caught in the open. But even before that there were losses. Some dire, they killed Matt with a car bomb."

"Who," asked John.

"Matt Murch he was one of Ziera Corps lead programmers. He was a good man."

"…now and at…"

"The grays," John said.

"…the hour of our death…"

"Yes. They were there but Skynet hurt them too. When the bombs fell."

John could only nod. He went back to his first question. "What happened to Martin?"

"Amen."

"A mistake, I think. You're mother couldn't trust him after Abilene. So she sent him where she thought he could do the least harm."

"Los Angeles."

"…Mary full of grace…"

"Yes. He was very… fervent. Here in the 'east' we had things well in hand, mostly. In the 'west' things were going from bad to worse, and adding Martin was like pouring gasoline on a fire. You're mother had people in place. They tried to support Martin, but his arguments took on an increasingly religious bent. This polarized, and alienated people, who might otherwise have joined our cause. In some ways it helped. In little more than 3 years of fighting nearly half of the 'warlords' were gone. Unfortunately we lost nearly has many allies as we killed enemies."

"Jesus."

"Wait. We fought? The 'resistance' fought against humans? Martin said we pitted them against each other."

"Holy Mary…"

"It's the same thing isn't it?" The priest looked at John surprised, that he could make such a distinction. "The weapons they used, the ammunition they expended were your weapons and your ammunition. The soldiers they killed were your soldiers."

"…mother of God…"

John nodded seeing the priest's logic. It was something he would have to remember. He wasn't leading just the human resistance. He was leading the humans.

"…pray for us…"

"Who is Tran?"

The priest looked up startled, shook his head, and paused for so long, that John began to think he wouldn't answer. "He's our monster."

"…now and at the hour…"

The priest continued. "He was young, capable and resourceful. There are rumors that he had a military background, or that he was a 'gangbanger'. He is ruthless and brilliant. He did that to Martin. Your mother wanted him for our side."

John wondered was that how fate or destiny or whatever worked. Was General Tran supposed to be this times 'John Connor'? Was he supposed to save humanity? Had they tampered like Skynet? And like Skynet had they crafted the weapon of their own destruction?

"Martin almost succeeded in recruiting him, but they had a falling out. After years of in fighting, he finally caught up with Martin and threw him in a cell for 6 months, and let him go."

"…of our death."

"It wasn't so straight forward," the priest continued. "Every few days they would send someone in to beat Martin up. When they found that he couldn't feel it anymore, they released him."

"Amen."

He looked up at John. "It was the whole 'Savior of Mankind' thing. He thought it was an unnecessary pretense. He thought it was all superstition."

"Hail Mary…"

John just looked at him. More thoughts more questions.

"…full of…"

The priest folded his hands in his lap, and looked down at his shoes. John thought he was going to pray. "And now," he said still looking at his shoes. "You're here." He looked at John. "And he is scared."

"But it was Davis that tried to kill me."

"…grace…"

"Davis would never have done anything without support. Davis was stable, and consistent, but he didn't like to take risks. Tran was using him to get to you he was a… cat's foot?"

"Cat's paw," John corrected.

"Thank you. Do you remember the troop dispositions of the 'west'?"

"…blessed are you…"

"Yes. Tran was far to the front, almost exposed."

"Yes."

"…among women…"

"Too keep him weak."

"Yes."

"…blessed is the…"

"You were worried that he might swallow up Bell, and Davis. Why were Wills and Perry so far apart? They couldn't possibly support each other?"

"…fruit of…"

"We wanted someone we could trust near Serrano Point. We knew it was important and Perry was there to watch our flank."

"…Jesus."

"I'm surprised they haven't made you a bishop yet."

"Amen."

The priest shook his head. "There are bishops in South and Central America, but they have heard nothing from the Holy See since Judgment Day. I fear the worst. There has been debate, concerning the establishment of a new Vatican City in Brazil, but I am not part of those discussions." He turned, "Allison, are you finished?"

"Yes, Father."

"Then you may go. I'm certain that Sister Sabrina will enjoy seeing you again."

"Thank you, Father." She turned to go, and then turned back. "Father, has there been any word?"

"Word," he asked.

"About," her eyes darted from the priest to John. "About my uncle?"

"Oh." Father Bonilla stood, and seemed to take on a more formal air. He tugged at his black jacket to straighten it. "No, Allison. There has been no news."

She nodded, and turned away as if expecting that answer. It was only at the door did she say, "thank you, Father."

When Father Bonilla turned back, John could see the sadness in his eyes. He looked at John and it was gone. He gestured to the 'table of organization'. "This is your army."

There were two full divisions a third was still being recruited, mostly from South and Central America, but some from the near western states, and the extreme western edge of the American Midwest. Nothing seemed to exist in a triangle stretching from the Great Lakes, to New England, down to the mid Atlantic. It had only been during the last three years that there had been contact with the south east much beyond the Mississippi. The southern hemisphere, at least in the Americas was largely intact. "If," the priest looked at John. "If we can integrate the 'western sector' division, you would have almost four full divisions."

Nearly fifty thousand troops, John guessed. "Do we know where Skynet is located?"

The question seemed to take the wind out of the priest's sails. He sat heavily on the edge of his desk. His shoulders slumped. We waved at the map almost behind him.

John looked up at it, as the priest shook his head and said: "No."

John stared at the map. Skynet would need computers. Shielded, defendable, he thought the air force, and navy were supposed to have super computers. Where would they be? Where would they be safe? The most secure place John could think of for a computer was Cheyenne Mountain. If that were the case, John wondered, why were they fighting here? Why expend resources here? According to Cameron Coltan is rare. Why waste it fighting over these ruins? What possible need could Skynet have for the Los Angeles coastline?

He looked at the priest. "Why did you think the 'internet' had been compromised?"

Father Bonilla looked at John, and just stared, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "It was John Henry." He was so taken aback that he responded in Spanish.

"The cyborg," asked John.

He seemed to catch himself, and continued on in English. "Yes, the other machine. John Henry said so. Something about," he paused trying to remember a conversation that took place long ago. "Worms, I think, he said, were controlling computers, all over the world."

"A zombie net," John said to himself.

"Yes! That's what he called it!" The priest seemed pleased.

"You said that the southern hemisphere was 'intact'. Do they still have computers there?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Do they still use them?"

"As far as I know."

There was knock on the door. The priest seemed surprised. He went to the door and opened it. John had turned to follow his progress. His mind still churning, he looked at the woman at the door, and said: "It's… It's you."

The priest turned to John, "John, I believe you know Sister Sabrina."

"We've met," the woman said her voice was still low and cool. She was still pretty. Her hair was shorter, and she was wearing BDUs, the only concession to her calling was the rosary she wore around her neck.

Father Bonilla explained, "She teaches two bible study classes, takes care of the music for mass, and she is also the head of my security detail."

John could only nod.

Sabrina smiled at him and relayed her message to the priest, "a runner has come in from the 'west'."

"And," the priest said.

"'Tran is moving.' "

"John, if you would excuse me. Sister can you escort John back to his 'quarters'? Oh! John before you go, one of the people in your group is… suspect. Sister Sabrina will explain."

"Certainly, Father. John," Sabrina said, and gestured out into the hall. As John stepped passed she said softly: "She doesn't know."

John looked at her, the door closed behind her. Sabrina walked passed him briskly she whispered again, "Allison doesn't know."

John could only stare. Allison doesn't know…what?

They stopped at a door just 10 feet away. John could hear a guitar. Someone was trying to play 'La Bamba', they weren't very good. The Sister turned and looked at him before opening the door, and John saw her face, inert, passive, like a mask. Like Cameron. She opened the door there was Allison with her tongue stuck out of one side of her mouth trying to line her fingers up. She looked up and smiled. "Sister Sabrina? That's John." The sister smiled at John. The mask was gone.

They were walking back to the 'guest quarters'. People were nervous. John could tell. It wasn't panic, but it wasn't far from it either. Sabrina though shorter set a good pace as they walked. John leaned in. "Father Bonilla said you would explain?"

"Yes." She said, simply.

"One of your companions," she continued after a few seconds. "May be working for the enemy."

John was amazed. No one else even noticed that Jorge was missing. He began to wonder at the quality of their surveillance equipment.

After another long pause, "Allison has been keeping close to the subject. Allison?"

"Thank you, Sister. John, Tyler transferred to us from the 125th five months ago. Davis' recruited heavily from the 'hills'. I have, with the cooperation of our Company officers, been surveilling her for much of that time."

"Tyler?"

"Yes."

"I thought… I don't… I thought you were friends?"

"I am that's why I want to…"

"Turn her."

The sister and the girl exchanged looks, and then simultaneously said: "Yes."

"With Davis gone," John thought out loud.

"She's probably looking for a new employer. Why can't it be us," Sabrina asked.

"Okay. So what do you need me for?"

"We don't," replied Allison. "That's why you're here with us."

"What?" John looked between the two.

"We didn't know how she would respond. So we wanted you out of the way."

"To keep you safe," supplied the Sister.

"So this is happening right now?"

Allison looked at Sabrina, "should have happened, already."

Sabrina agreed, "a minute or two ago."

"Why didn't it happen while we were in with Father Bonilla?"

Sabrina smiled. Allison looked at him, and said, "because I hadn't told them yet?"

"Oh. So… why are we in the cafeteria?"

"Because," Sabrina said as she sat down. "We are waiting."

"Sit down, John." He sat. Allison left.

He looked at Sabrina, and opened his mouth to ask. She cut him off with a shake of her head. Allison came back with a tray with three waters and some 'bread'. It was the same 'bread' that he ate when they returned from Lancaster.

They were there for less than five minutes. "Sister! Novice!"

Even without the yelling child the 'cafeteria' here at Lockwood was loud. He wasn't sure if that meant anything.

Sabrina turned. "Yes, David." She said in Spanish. She pronounced his name 'dah-vid' with accent on the 'i'. It was Esteban's older brother. He didn't as much as glance at John.

"They are taking her to your office." David replied in Spanish. The one, thought John, with the sheet music, with the guitar and the tambourine. It was surreal.

"Excellent. Thank you David." Sabrina said as she stood. She looked at Allison. "Remember, Allison, you must be strong." She looked at John. "Your path is one I do not envy. I have and I always will pray for you."

John looked at Allison. Her eyes were bright. Barely above a whisper she said, "we lose everybody we love." She crossed herself.

"Novice," John asked.

They stood. Allison nodded, "I have a year to decide."

"You want to be a nun?"

Allison laughed. "A Sister," she corrected. Then added, "may be. I'm not going to live in a convent, John. I'm going to fight!"

They were walking back to their quarters. "Wait." Gears meshed, and a thought formed.

She looked at him as they walked.

"The two Sisters, in Lancaster with Martin and the Priest, they weren't just praying for his soul?"

"No, but they were doing that too."

"They were his bodyguards"

"Yes, and don't tell your mother. She would be upset if she knew that we were wasting any resources on Martin."

John only nodded.

By the time they got back to the guest quarters. They were empty. Only Jorge remained. He stood when they entered. "I was told to wait for you. Kyle is meeting with the priest. They will probably be sending him back 'west'."

"What?"

"A runner arrived…" Jorge tried to sound reasonable, it didn't work.

"I know!" John yelled.

"John." Allison touched his shoulder to calm him. He shrugged it off.

"What does that have to do with Kyle?"

"They want him to bring back as much of the 130th as he can get to pull them back here out of Tran's reach." Jorge explained. His voice was neutral.

"When is he supposed to leave?"

"I don't know."

"John," Allison said she touched his shoulder again. "There's only one exit."

-Kyle

John asked Allison to wait for him at the 'armory'. He was worried that the air locks would cycle too slowly and he would miss him, but they were at the end of the tunnel silhouetted by the setting sun.

"John, I have to go." Beyond Kyle, he could see Brandon, and the others. "They have asked me to try and bring back as many 'resistance fighters' as I can. They are loaning me a truck. They want to make me a Lieutenant."

Yes, John thought, they will make every sergeant a lieutenant. Make every private a sergeant. Make every Captain a Colonel. They will build an army around you. They will build my army around you.

"I was worried that I was going to go before I could see you, again. But I wanted to say this first: I want to help you John, but I need to understand. Can you help me understand? These people John, they were expecting you. They've been expecting you. We found you John, how did they know anyone would find you? You owe us that much. Can you explain that?"

John had no reply to this.

Kyle nodded. "I know someone who did understand." Kyle pulled the crumpled note from a pocket. "I know someone who knew. You said you 'saw it', but did you read it? Did you read all of it?" From another pocket he fished out the torn envelope. Carefully he folded the note and put it back into the ruined envelope. He handed it to John. "Read it. Read all of it."

John took the envelope, across the torn front it said: "-Kyle Reese, if anything happens to me, READ this." John looked at it, then up at Kyle. Why would Derek address it to 'Kyle Reese'? He opened the envelope. The much crumpled and stained note was folded into precise thirds.

"That's not my brother's hand writing, it's much too neat." Kyle explained.

He unfolded the first flap. "The Priest," in simple block letters, just like he had read it when he saw it the first time. John unfolded the second flap. "Gen. J. Perry, commanding. 130th SOC." He looked up at Kyle. He was certain that his mouth was hanging open.

"See John, he knew. Somehow, he knew, and he understood. He knew what needed to be done. I'd ask you if you could explain that to me, but it's obvious from the look on your face, that you are as confused by that as I am." Kyle paused.

He's deciding, John thought, and he's decided to ask. John felt the dread settle on him like a weight tied around his heart.

"I know you, John. I don't understand how, but I know you. I've been trying to figure out how that could even be possible, but we've met, John. Somehow I've met you before. Do you understand, John? Before. We were on our way back from Lancaster, I think, when I figured that out."

"I wish…" Kyle said almost wistfully. "I wish Derek were here, he's gotta better head for things like this, he could be so… sentimental." He laughed softly to himself. "We've met, John. And all I know is that when we met I was a kid. And… And… you haven't changed, you haven't changed at all. Can you answer that? Can you tell me what that means? Can you tell me how that can be?"

"No." John shook his head. "I don't think I can answer that. I don't think I can explain it, not in any way you could understand, or would even believe. No, please let me finish." He said when he saw his dad, protest.

"But this much you have to understand… This much I need for you to understand…" Call it premonition, call it destiny, call it fate, but John knew at that very moment, that he would never see his father again. "You're," John choked, the lump in his throat cut across a sentence he'd been rehearsing for nearly 3 weeks, now. "You're… you're my hero. You've always been my… my hero." John's vision blurred and he turned to walk away. He couldn't see but he knew the way out was toward the light, but he wasn't trying to escape. He stepped towards the dark.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. "John." The voice was soft, and kind. It was undemanding, and yet it demanded all. Something John could not give.

He couldn't turn. He couldn't look. He couldn't. Because he knew that if he did, he would fail, and it would all be for nothing. This would all be for nothing. He couldn't be a 'private' anymore. He couldn't be a 'soldier' anymore. He had to lead. Somehow, some way he had to lead.

"You called me 'dad' again."

"I know," he said. "I know." He took a step, the weight on his shoulder felt like the weight of the world. He took another, and the weight fell away, but it never ever left.

One step in front of the other, he thought to himself, remember the mission. He felt his father's stare on his back, as he blindly made his way to the dogs. "Hi Daisy," he said, his voice thick. The unseen tail thumped. The bell rang. The strobes flashed, and the 'air lock' doors shut behind him, cutting off the light.