Terminator Salvation: From the Ashes

EPILOGUE

For a long time after the sound of the helicopters faded away Orozco just stayed where he was, propped up against the remnants of the barricade that hadn’t done a damn bit of good, chewing on the ration bars Kate Connor had left him and sipping from the water bottle.

From time to time he thought about being responsible and saving some of the food for later. But it all tasted good, and he was ravenous, and he really needed to build back his strength. And anyway, later might never come.

After about an hour, though, he decided he was tired of sitting. His hip was still weak and tender where the Terminator slug had grazed it, but his M16 made a reasonably good walking stick.

Carefully, he levered his way back to his feet.

For a long minute he just stood there, balancing on his left leg and the M16, looking around at the wreckage of everything he’d known for the past two years. He knew he should be angry, or bitter, or at least sad. But all he felt was empty.

Maybe it was the morphine Kate had given him. Maybe once the pain came back, some emotion would, too.

But there was no point just standing around waiting for that to happen. He might as well do what he could to stay alive, if for no better reason than to keep Skynet’s victory tonight from being a complete hundred percent.

The first step—literally—would be to get a little more mobile. Three of Moldering Lost Ashes’

older residents had walked with crutches, and one of them had had two sets. His room had been off the north corridor, here on the ground level where he wouldn’t have to deal with stairs, and there was a good chance his spare set of crutches was still there. Favoring his right leg as much as he could, Orozco began picking his way through the debris.

He had reached the north corridor and was working his way along it when he found Sibanda.

He paused there, resting on his rifle, gazing down at the body. The bodies, rather—the thin pastor still had his arms wrapped around two of the younger children. He’d probably been trying to shield them with his own body when the Terminator shot them down.

Once again, Orozco tried to feel something. Once again, he found himself unable to do so.

Giving Sibanda’s body a final salute, he started to walk past.

He’d gone two steps when the crucial question suddenly penetrated his mental haze.

What in the world had Sibanda been doing back here?

He turned around, frowning down at the bodies. There were no rooms nearby that Sibanda might have been trying to take refuge in. No access to the upper floors or basement, even if going to either place would have done him any good. Had the man simply panicked and started dragging the children around in circles?

And then, Orozco raised his eyes from the bodies to the wall behind them. The wall, and the empty window frame.

It was tricky getting through the window with his bad hip, but Orozco managed it. Working his way along the twisting passageway among the rubble, he finally made it to the drainage tunnel manhole cover. The cover had been sealed earlier that afternoon, just as Orozco had ordered.

Sometime in the hours after that, someone had unsealed it.

The crowbar he and Wadleigh had used to pry up the cover was still there. But Orozco was alone this time, with a bad hip and an almost useless left arm, and the cover seemed to have somehow picked up about a ton of weight.

He was working and swearing at it when the cover was suddenly pushed up from the inside and a pair of hands shoved it part way off to the side.

Dropping the crowbar, Orozco snatched his Beretta from its holster and thumbed off the safety.

“Who’s there?” he demanded. “Show yourself.”

“Don’t shoot,” a scared, quavering voice called. The hands still clutching the rim of the cover shifted to the edge of the hole near the ladder.

And to Orozco’s astonishment, seventeen-year-old Candace Tomlinson rose from the shaft. The girl who, less than twenty-four hours ago, had been whining and fighting over a jar of pickles.

Though in that first instant he barely recognized her. Her face was drawn and pale, her skin swollen with the puffiness of recent crying.

“Is it over?” she asked, her eyes shifting nervously around. “Is it safe? Reverend Sibanda said that when it was safe—”

She broke off, her face screwing up as she belatedly focused on Orozco’s bandages and arm sling and splatters of dried blood. She opened her mouth, and Orozco braced himself for a scream.

But the scream never came. With a visible effort, the girl dragged herself back from the edge of hysteria.

And when she finally closed her mouth again, her face had aged ten years.

“Yes, it’s over,” Orozco told her quietly. “But it didn’t turn out very well. Are you alone in there?”

Candace swallowed hard.

“No,” she murmured. Moving like a sleepwalker, she pushed the cover the rest of the way off the hole and climbed out.

“It’s all right,” she called softly into the shaft. “You can come up now.”

A minute later, they all had. Eight of them, ranging in age from Candace’s seventeen years to Rob’s fifteen, all the way down to Olivia’s seven.

Orozco watched them as they climbed out and lined up silently next to Candace, his heart sinking within him. Eight children, lost in a building full of their dead parents and friends.

Eight children, looking to Orozco for help.

“All right, this is how it is,” he said when the last of them was out and Rob had pushed the cover halfway over the hole again. “The nine of us are all that are left. Everyone else is dead.”

He watched their faces closely, waiting for explosions of disbelief, denial, or hysteria. But they all merely looked at him out of their tear-stained faces.

They’d already had their private bouts with denial and fear. And like Candace, they’d come out the other end with whatever was left of their childhood gone.

“All right, then,” Orozco went on. “I know a place, not too far away, where we can go settle in for the next day or so. After that, we’ll probably have to move somewhere else. Getting out of the building won’t be pleasant, though, so I want you all to promise you’ll keep your eyes on me as we go through the lobby. Okay? Everyone promise?”

Hesitantly, Candace raised her hand.

“What about food and water?” she asked.

“I’m told there’s some there,” Orozco said. “I don’t know how much. Once we’re settled, I can come back here and look for more.”

“But you’re hurt, aren’t you?” Rob asked.

“I’m not that hurt,” Orozco said gruffly. “Come on—I want to be under cover before it starts getting light.”

“There’s no point in you going all that way and then having to come back,” Candace said, her voice under tight control. “I know where there’s some food. I’ll go get it.”

“That’s all right,” Orozco said quickly. The last thing he wanted was any of his charges wandering around among all those bodies. “We need to get to the hideout.”

“We’ll need clothes, too,” Rob spoke up. His voice, like Candace’s, was shaky but determined.

“I’ll go help Candace.”

Orozco shook his head. “I can’t let you—”

“They’re all dead,” Candace said, her eyes welling with tears. “We know that. We won’t be…We’ll go get the food, okay?”

Orozco sighed. “Okay. We’ll meet you at the big pile of rock where the archway used to be. Be careful.”

Candace nodded. “We will.”

Walking close together, she and Rob disappeared back into the rabbit warren.

“Okay, let’s go,” Orozco said to the others. “Everyone follow me.”

“Do you need help?” Olivia asked timidly as Orozco got a grip on his M16. “We could try to carry you.”

“Not right now, thanks,” Orozco assured the girl. “Better save your strength for later, when my pain meds wear off.”

Actually, the morphine was already starting to wear off, and the trip back to the building was considerably harder and slower than the trip out had been. Maneuvering his way back in through the window was minor torture, and Orozco’s face and shirt were wet with sweat by the time he was once again inside Moldering Lost Ashes.

He fully expected some of the younger children to panic or scream or at least break down in sobs as they passed through the lobby. But there wasn’t even a sniffle. However it was that Sibanda had chosen these particular children for a second chance at life, he’d chosen them well.

They had reached the pile of rocks when Candace and Rob returned with two canvas bags each full of food, water, and extra clothing. Over Rob’s shoulders were slung a shotgun and another rifle.

Strapped to Candace’s back, to Orozco’s surprise, were Cap Royer’s spare set of crutches.

The universe was a strange place, Orozco thought as the group worked their way over the heap of stone. He’d turned down Connor’s invitation mainly because he was tired of authority and responsibility and having to do and care for others. He’d looked forward to spending some time being strictly on his own, with no one’s life in his hands. Now, in a single stroke, that option was closed to him.

And what was truly strange was that he couldn’t even imagine having wanted such a thing.

These were his children now, his responsibility, and he would take care of them.

Because he was a Marine. And that was what Marines did.

The End