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
How To Survive When You're Buried Alive
The days pass, as days tend to do.
Even in the machine apocalypse.
John tends to the comms, tries to keep the voices alive out there beyond the steel and concrete walls of the fallout shelter in the Sierra Nevadas.
Aided now by Jeffery Barnes and Tyler Russell.
Kate tends to Jericho Barnes, who is steadily getting stronger, able now to get up, move around, and . . .
"You guys got pizza here, right?"
"Sorry. Machine apocalypse and all."
"Oh well, worth a shot."
. . . ask questions of his own.
And the survivors, well, survive.
They eat.
They sleep.
"You don't have HBO or video games or anything down here, do ya?"
"No. Sorry."
"I'm just kidding. Can I, uh, help or anything?"
"Well, umm, . . ."
They mose around.
It's not easy, nothing to do and nowhere to do it.
Just as with Kate and her manic cleaning of the rocks and counting of the food rations, people get restless.
It's difficult to establish a routine when there's nothing really to do but sit around and breathe.
". . . little monkey and always very curious . . ."
Kate remembers this book.
The book about the monkey.
And the man with the yellow hat.
Who always asked the monkey to be good and not get into trouble.
Which was dumb.
Because he was a monkey.
And got into shit every time the man asked him not to.
It was just annoying.
But she supposed it would be entertaining to read to her child.
If there had never been any machine apocalypse.
And summary destruction of the world.
But still . . .
"That's sweet of you to read to your son like that."
"Oh. He's not my son."
This is replied in a low, soothing tone.
Since the now orphaned child is sleeping peacefully with his head on the woman's knee.
"Oh. I'm sorry."
This pale woman with her knitted hat and her eyebrow-less face who strokes gentle fingers through the child's scraggly brown hair.
"I came across him while I was walking. He was sitting in rubble, with that book on his lap, just turning the pages."
Telling her story in halting, broken pieces.
"His face was red and swollen and blotchy, like he'd been crying. But he wasn't then. He looked like he couldn't anymore."
"I offered him crackers and he told me he wasn't supposed to talk to strangers but everyone who wasn't a stranger was dead. He came with me."
As if it's all a dream within a dream.
In this post apocalyptic nightmare.
"So I guess he is mine now."
She shrugs and Kate gestures.
"What's his name?"
A rueful upturn of the mouth.
"He said his name was Louie. But he wanted to be called George."
Kate looks at the woman, the boy, the little yellow book.
"I'm glad you and George are with us, . . ."
"Ava."
"Ava."
And everybody's got a story.
"I was a teacher . . ."
"I was a line cook at In-and-Out. . ."
"I was in college, English Lit . . ."
John listens to some.
Kate listens to others.
Most talk about their lives before.
Some talk about their lives now.
Some . . .
"You're all a bunch of fucking cowards!"
. . . are consumed . . .
"Listen, calm down, we're all on the same side here."
. . . with the future.
"Don't fucking tell me to calm down, what about the people up there, who's on their side?!"
So consumed, in fact, . . .
"Listen, we're not ready to fight the machines yet, you're not ready to fight them yet-"
"Don't fucking tell me what I'm not ready to do-"
. . . that they're thinking, planning crazy things.
He's young, around the same age as John.
Young and brave and stir crazy and desperate for anyone, anything.
Any hope at all.
"We don't even know if there are people close to us, we haven't gotten a communication from anyone in days and no one was close the last communique we had-"
"You can't just fucking expect me to sit here on my ass while people die up there!"
"If we die down here, there's no one left, no one to help the survivors-"
"There's us, there's us right now!"
"Greene-"
"I'm going out! I'm going out and I'm gonna find other survivors and I'm gonna bring them back here!"
"Listen, please -"
"I'm going and you can't stop me!"
Technically they can.
There is no law here in the apocalypse, certainly no judges, no juries.
There is only them and no one on the cameras watching them either.
Technically they could stop him, this desperately crazy man with good intentions and feet stubbornly set upon a dying path.
They could bumrush him, hold him down, tie him up, sedate him until he comes to his senses.
Realizes this brash plan of his is a . . .
". . . suicide mission."
"I don't fucking care! I'm not sitting here on my ass anymore!"
And with that, he turns, this bold, brave doomed man.
"Wait."
And John calls out to him quietly, all done shouting.
At least for this time.
The guy turns, all fire and righteousness and willingness to go die for people that aren't even likely out there.
Just machines, machines, and more machines.
He turns and he glares.
And John Conner speaks.
"Give him a gun."
Barnes is standing close, Kate's standing closer.
But it's Barnes who speaks first.
"John. We need that shit, man."
Quiet and low.
"This guy's dead meat out there."
And John looks at him.
Not shriveling, not condescending.
Just looks.
"And we're still human in here."
Then, louder, but not much.
Turning his gaze back to the man with the plan.
"Give him a gun. And some rounds."
The gun is brought, the rounds.
The man, revitalized and restrengthened, grips them with such determination and relief that John's human heart hurts for him.
There's nothing out there for him but dirt and death, hopefully quick and painless, just as likely brutal and slow.
"You just wait! I'm bringing back more survivors! You have that hatch ready!"
John nods, wishing he could convince him otherwise.
"We will."
They never see him again.
Whelp, that's one down.
And he wasn't even a bad guy or anything.
Just brash.
Thanks to DinahRay for previously reviewing!
And thanks to any interested readers still out there.
See you all again (soon?).
:)