I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.
I am not in a machine apocalypse. From a certain point of view. ;)
Not A Church Youth Group Sleepover
The End of Civilization
It's muted in the compound for a while thereafter.
Never the rockin' party palace of, say, Mike Kripke's basement, for instance, now, with the tragic loss of Bella and her baby, the atmosphere is even more grim.
That's the thing that drives them all slowly crazy.
They can't get out.
It's not safe.
It's not even the machines.
Not directly.
They're gathering intel, that the machines are not yet a formidable army and only move in clusters, seeking out survivors, assessing current conditions (so the humans think), and moving on to new places.
There will be more, they will march across the face of the planet like locusts one day.
But for now, they, as the humans, interestingly enough, stay relatively low.
Because the nuclear apocalypse has come.
And it is a bastard of a thing.
Think the topsoil of ten thousand farms of the American Dust Bowl of the 1930s.
Wild and devastating windstorms that relentlessly sweep the land.
Now compound that by the majority of the country, the world.
Dirt, debris, destruction of entire cities thrown up into fire tornados.
Sweeping firestorms, concussive aftershocks, tsunamis.
It's Hell, it's worse than Hell.
Because Hell is reserved for sinners only.
And an incalculable number of innocents suffered and perished on Judgement Day.
And every day afterward.
Another month passes, so slow, time crawling by.
They lose contact with Oregon Civil Defense, Utah reports heavy losses of an already substantially diminished population.
The machines seem to be rooting out the humans, killing most, scooping up others and taking them off, never to be seen again.
And then, even worse reports of some, not all, of the remaining humans committing awful atrocities against each other.
The apocalypse does not bring out the best in people.
Looting.
Raping.
Hoarding.
Murdering.
People grovel, starve, die.
Apocalypse kingpins rise, lord, and topple when those around them become too desperate and hungry.
When no one is around to make sure society maintains, mayhem reins.
Some denizens choose to emulate grungy Touched By An Angel, others, full Purge.
Which begs the question.
Who is in charge?
And how does that person get to be in charge?
And how does everyone know?
John Conner can't control what's happening outside their Sierra Nevada VIP fallout shelter.
But within, without apparent malice or something, their little shakily constructed society, mostly built on the honor system, is becoming even more fragile.
Food rations dwindling faster than they anticipated.
There is still plenty, months, a year's worth at least.
But though this is their first of many Valley Forges, and John's not particularly an American history historian, . . .
"Do you have a second?"
. . . he knows he wants to avoid imminent starvation . . .
"Sure."
. . . as they long as they possibly can.
"What's up?"
And so, naturally, . . .
"Well, . . ."
. . . he talks to Kate.
And that's not all.
Things have been going missing.
Extra rations, essential supplies.
There's nothing to account for, no one to account to.
So, who's in charge?
"Hey, Barnes, you got a second?"
"Yeah, man."
It's the three of them.
John for some reason has attached to Jeffery Barnes.
He can't really explain it.
It's instinctive.
But he trusts him.
And he thinks that may be in part to the easy deference the man always seems to give to . . .
"Alright, Kate?"
"Yeah. I mean, all things considered."
. . . the only person he trusts completely . . .
"Yeah. So, John, what's up, man?"
. . . in whatever is left of the world.
"The way, I see it, it's you. You know things. You've been there."
John shakes his head a little disbelievingly.
"You . . . believe me?"
He glances at Kate who glances back.
"Us?"
Barnes shrugs.
"I mean, uh, the time travel thing is a little bit to wrap my head around, you know, but . . ."
Another shrug.
"Everything else checks out. Everything. And after the stuff I've seen since it happened . . ."
John watches him ghost a smile.
"You know. You were there. You tried to stop it."
Shrug a third time.
"And, you know, if you're wrong, well, we'll probably all be too dead to care anyway."
And John Conner . . .
"Okay."
. . . can't argue with that.
"But what about the others?"
And that, . . .
"Well, . . ."
. . . that's another thing entirely.
". . . what we do going forward."
Going forward.
Rebuilding.
Maybe not cities or towns or mini-malls.
But . . .
". . . functional society."
. . . just them.
"Up to this point, we've pretty much been easing through without any real rules or regulations and . . ."
He wishes he knew what to say.
He wishes somebody else could say it.
". . . we have to be together, on this, we have to be all on the same page if we're going to survive."
Anybody really.
"And I know it seems hopeless, like this is it and this is all there is . . . but it's not. This isn't the end. This isn't the end for us."
But there isn't.
There's just him.
Because he's . . .
"How? How do you know it isn't the end?"
. . . John Fucking Conner.
It's Noa who speaks. Noa with her timid eyes and pleading voice.
And now it's come to it.
The time when he will either own up or shut up.
"Well, because a Terminator told me."
"A Terminator?"
"Yeah."
"What's a Terminator?"
John Conner takes a deep breath.
"One of the machines. Built to look like a man. It was . . . sent to get me here, get us . . ."
He glances to Kate, sees the strain in her face.
Keeps going.
". . . here. So we would survive and be safe."
Braces himself for the inevitable disbelief.
Instead he gets stone silence.
Until again, the brave and now bewildered Noa speaks again.
"Well, . . . how did he know?"
"Because he was from the future."
"The future."
"Yeah."
Silence reigns as survivors decide whether or not it's safe living in such close proximity to a crazy person.
Then, Noa.
"How . . . how did he get here?"
"Time travel."
"Time travel."
It strains credulity, it really does.
Because there, that right there, . . .
They're looking at me like I have three heads.
Kate? Help?
. . . is more than anyone can really properly process.
"Um, that makes no sense. That's sci-fi, that's Twilight Zone shit."
"Is a nuclear Holocaust also Twilight Zone?"
Now there's Kate to the rescue.
Kate who doesn't seem crazy like him.
"We're being hunted by machines. Does that seem like Twilight Zone shit to you? We've all seen them."
She's not shouting, doesn't even sound upset.
"Look, I thought he was nuts too when I first met him-"
Thanks, Kate.
Solidarity.
". . . but the machines are real. Judgement Day is real-"
"Judgement Day?"
"Yeah, that's what the Terminator said they call it in the future. The day the machines men built to protect themselves judged humanity and found it a threat."
Quiet consideration for a while.
Broken by . . .
"So . . . do you call it that because that's what they call it in the future or do they call it that in the future because you said they do?"
. . . something that, also, was completely inevitable.
"I don't . . ."
John rubs his temples where a ugly headache is starting to form.
". . . I don't know."
And he tries to get the conversation back on track.
"Listen, we have to work together to survive this thing. That means we have to agree upon a leader, rules, goals . . ."
Oh god, can't I just shoot stuff and run for my life?
This is hard.
". . . and we have to agree on how to enforce those rules."
"Don't we have a Constitution or something? Like, a U.S. government or something?"
John huffs.
"Where? Where are they?"
"Well, uh, I mean, there's the flag. Over there."
Another huff.
"That? That's a piece of cloth on the wall. We could pull it down and use it as a napkin for all the good it'll do us."
They're entering dangerous territory, challenging pre-Judgement Day rules and norms none of them ever considered before because they've always been there.
"It only means something if we make it mean something."
The moment holds and John glances at Kate who glances at him.
He isn't sure how to proceed and he really wishes . . .
Almost anything to stop this conversation.
. . . this wasn't his job.
And maybe it always won't be.
But it is right now so all he has to do . . .
Just about anything.
. . . is figure it the hell out.
Shit.
And make it work.
Then, Barnes speaks up.
"Well, it's pretty simple for me. I'm with John."
John finds himself embarrassed at this display of absolute loyalty.
"I mean, you ain't my once and future king or anything . . ."
Okay, maybe not absolute.
". . . but I got your back."
Kate smiles and John smiles.
And Barnes smiles, followed by his big brother.
And the rest of the group ventures hopeful expressions.
"Okay. Thanks. Any other suggestions?"
There isn't.
And that's about it for that round.
". . . rations will be kept under lock and key. Everyone will be given one ration at assigned mealtimes. Supplies will be rationed out, we'll try two weeks and see how that goes. We'll have another community meeting in two weeks to discuss how it's going. All in favor?"
"Aye."
"All opposed?"
There are none.
"Okay then. I guess, we're done for now."
"John? There's one more thing you need to do."
They're alone, him and Kate.
Katherine Brewster.
His second-in-command.
His wife.
His . . .
"What?"
. . . balance.
"This is John Conner. If you're listening to this, you are not alone . . ."
Hey, MadMikeE, talk about the awesome review and toss in remember the M.A.S.H conversation about war being worse than Hell? Well, this is a callback I thought you'd appreciate.
And the portioning discussion really put me in mind of Lost and Hurley passing out the entirety of the peanut butter because he couldn't handle the stress of picking and choosing the rations for each person.
Precious angel-hearted sumo baby.
But not realistic enough for me.
Anyway, thanks for reading and be safe out there.
:)