Fic - Breaking Point 4/8

[cj2017]

Title: Breaking Point (4/8)

Rating: Hard R: violence, sex, harsh language, you probably know the drill by now.

Word Count: 35,000 all told. This part 5,000

 

 

~ ~ ~

Breaking Point 4/8

~ ~ ~

 

Dyson didn’t look up as Jenkins entered the computer lab.

               “That bitch has set us back months.” Error message after error message flashed onto the screen as he tried in vain to access the systems. “If not years.”

               Jenkins stepped a little closer but, sensing the other man’s mood, not too close. “They had nothing with them, nothing in their bags. No disk, no tech, nothing they could’ve uploaded the virus from. Someone else must have been with them.”

               Dyson nodded distractedly. “Her son.” He had already guessed the way Connor’s plan had worked. “Which means he’s still close.”

               “Wallace and Brooks are ready to go.” Having been rudely awakened, Deacon’s second computer scientist and its engineer were waiting in their rooms. With some reluctance, Jenkins continued. “Carey just got in, says the access road is barely passable and there’s no way anything larger than an SUV will get out.”

               “Dammit.” Dyson slammed his hand down on the keyboard. “We can’t move the prototypes or the metal?”

               “No.” Jenkins shifted uncomfortably, not at all appreciating his role as messenger. “Not until the weather breaks.”

               “Forecast?”

               “Five days to a week.”

               When Dyson finally did look up from the computer, his expression was sanguine. “Well, that should give you plenty of time, then.”

               Jenkins smiled without humor. “Yes, Mr Dyson, it should.” He turned to leave, considering himself dismissed, and then he remembered the actual reason he had come to the lab. “Connor’s associate’s got some strange ink on his arm.” He handed Dyson the PDA with the image already loaded. “Definitely not prison ink.”

               “I’ll take your word for that.” His brow furrowed, Dyson studied the tattoo.

               The PDAs had not been affected by the virus; he selected an email address and attached the image to a new message. “Stay away from Connor for now.” He typed a brief query and then sent the mail. “I want a response to this first.”

               Jenkins nodded once and pulled the door closed as he left. Setting the PDA down on the desk, Dyson began to pack disks and files into a crate.

~ ~ ~

               The wind howled around the cabin, whipping the mist into shapes that curled and danced and blotted everything out. When the snow started to fall it made visibility even worse, but Cameron was able to adjust the range of her scan, and the weather was only an inconvenience, not an insurmountable problem. Standing on the porch, she could sense someone watching her and knew John was still sitting in the window. She knew that he couldn’t see a thing through the white-out, but he had realized now that something had gone wrong and he continued to look out for his mother regardless.

~ ~ ~

               The PDA bleeped twice, a blue light flashing briefly on its display as an email was received. Setting his crate aside, Dyson opened the mail. The body of the message was blank, the sender not prone to wasting time with conventional displays of politeness, but there was a two-megabyte file attached to it.

               The image loaded first: a waist-upwards shot of the man who was currently lying semi-conscious in Sub-basement C. The man didn’t appear to have been in a much better state when this photograph had been taken. He stared without seeing at the lens, his posture exhausted, the expression in his eyes utterly hopeless. The complete dossier had been copied from the chip of the T-888 assigned to exterminate the man and his team. It was standard procedure for machines traveling back through the Time Displacement Equipment, and an efficient way of gathering intelligence. The technique had been allowing Kaliba to race ahead of its schedule until Connor’s latest and horrendously successful act of sabotage.

               The text identified the man as Derek Reese, first lieutenant, 132^nd SOC. A Resistance member who had apparently been sent back to assist Sarah Connor in her misguided efforts to prevent the inevitable. Dyson shook his head, wondering why some people constantly failed to grasp the simplest of facts: that the machines would win and that the only humans who would be left standing and not scrabbling around in the rubble like rats were those who stepped forward and accepted that the larger part of humanity was doomed.

               Scrolling through the information, Dyson skimmed the mission reports and the scant details that were known about Reese’s family. Towards the bottom of the second page, something caught his eye. The short paragraph explained exactly why the man staring out of the photograph bore that terrible look on his face and, for a second, Dyson felt something that might have been pity.

               “Poor bastard,” he said quietly. Shutting the file down, he thumbed the button on his radio. “Find Carey and meet me at Sub C.”

~ ~ ~

               They entered in a rush of light and noise, overhead neons bright and blinding, the heavy door swinging back and hitting the wall with a sudden crash.

               Closing her eyes against the glare, Sarah felt the jerk as Derek was pulled from her arms before a large hand clamped around her biceps and forced her to stand. Using her hands to shield her eyes, she squinted as Dyson and Jenkins came slowly into focus. She guessed that the man behind her was Carey. Derek still lay on the floor, but he was conscious and watching her.

               “Make this easy, Sarah,” Dyson said pleasantly. “We know your son is nearby. Tell us where he is and I promise you can die quickly.”

               She raised her head to meet Dyson’s gaze and was surprised by the naïveté she saw there. He genuinely seemed to believe that he was making her an acceptable offer. A notion she was only too willing to disabuse him of.

               “Go to hell.”

               Dyson stepped back and Jenkins struck her once, knocking her head back against Carey’s chest. Before she could recover, he hit her again, his fist digging into her abdomen and forcing the air from her. She bent low, gasping for breath, and struggling not to throw up. She dimly heard Derek say her name and the dull sound of a boot kicking into him. Blood was pouring from her nose, and when she finally managed to straighten, Dyson’s face was screwed up in distaste.

               “What’s the matter, Danny?” She was still panting and she wiped her hand across her face, blood smearing onto her palm. “Squeamish?”

               He shook his head, his voice disinterested. “Bored. They pay me to create, not get involved in the more…” He paused, searching for a suitable euphemism, “…unpleasant aspects of the business.”

               “So when they murdered your mother you were too busy working for them to stop them?” Sarah spat the words out, crimson spraying onto the concrete and splattering Dyson’s boots. Provoking the man who ostensibly held their lives in his hands was probably ill-advised, but she was desperate to find a chink in his armor that she could exploit.

               He was glaring at her, a flush of rage coloring his dark skin.

               “You murdered my mother! Just like you murdered my father!”

               She was already shaking her head. “No,” she said softly. “No, I didn’t get there quickly enough to save her. Kaliba had already killed her.” A thought occurred to her, something so simple she almost laughed. “You never saw the file, did you?”

               It stopped Dyson in his tracks. “What file?”

               That was answer enough for her, and the quick exchange of glances between Jenkins and Carey explained exactly who had intercepted the T-888’s upload.

               “The recording the machine made as it shot your mother in her own bedroom.” The sorrow in Sarah’s voice was genuine.

               His eyes wide with shock, Dyson turned away from her, his hand running back and forth over his close-cropped hair.

               “You’re lying.” A quiver in his words betrayed his uncertainty and for a second she dared to hope that she might have reached him.

               “The machine sent the file here. That’s how we found you. Which means that someone didn’t want you to see it.”

               Carey’s grip on her upper arm had tightened to the point where his fingers were grinding her flesh against bone. She knew he was going to exert a price for this later. Whether there was to be a later rested entirely in Dyson’s hands.

               Dyson was sweating, his skin slick and sickly-looking in the harsh light. He looked lost, and she was reminded then of exactly how young he was and how much had been taken from him. All of a sudden, he seemed to reach a decision and faced her again, hatred blazing in his eyes.

               “I don’t believe you,” he declared with the simple clarity of a child. He nodded to Jenkins, who took hold of Derek and began to drag him towards the door. “I don’t think you’ll tell us anything,” Dyson said lightly, “Although I’ll certainly let them try to prove me wrong. Lieutenant Reese, on the other hand,” he smiled with satisfaction when she started at his use of Derek’s name and rank, “He broke once. Who’s to say that he won’t break again?”

               Sarah stared at him. She had no idea what he was referring to and Derek was already gone.

               “What the hell happened to you, Danny?”

               Dyson studied her thoughtfully, considering his answer.

               “You happened to me, Sarah,” he finally said. When he closed the door behind him, she was plunged back into the dark.

~ ~ ~

               A cold blast of wind entered the cabin with Cameron, and John tucked his knees closer to his chest.

               “They’re not coming, are they?” He glanced out of the window again as if afraid he would miss something the instant he looked away.

               “No.” Cameron propped the M4A1 against the sofa; its scope had a thin film of ice over the lens. “We need to leave.”

               “What?” The shock of her statement pulled him away from the window and he stood slowly. “No fucking way are we going anywhere.”

               “They’re not coming.” She was already dragging duffel bags out of the closet. She looked up when John put his hand on her arm, stilling her movement.

               “Then we give them longer,” he said, his tone intended to put an end to any debate. “We can’t go anywhere in this weather and no one will be able to find us. So we wait.”

               Cameron stopped herself from pointing out the obvious, that Sarah and Derek would be in real trouble if they were traveling and even worse trouble if they weren’t. There was no happy ending as far as she could see.

               “We wait until there’s a weather window. If we don’t hear from them, we leave.” She picked up the newly-thawed assault rifle and strode over to the door. “I made your mother a promise, John.”

               Ignoring the protest he was about to voice, she walked back out onto the porch, pulled the door shut and recommenced her scan of the perimeter.

~ ~ ~

               “You can make this stop. Tell me where John Connor is.”

               “Fuck. You.” Derek gave his standard response and closed his eyes. It made no difference - they had blindfolded him as soon as they had bound him to the chair - but for some reason he preferred the darkness to be of his own making.

               Nothing.

               Silence.

               Not even the sound of Jenkins breathing. No movement or swish of air as a weapon was readied.

               In the forty seconds before the wooden bat cracked into his chest and splintered another rib, Derek remembered bitterly that it was the anticipation of pain that made torture so very effective.

~ ~ ~

               Even with her knees held closely to her chest, Sarah couldn’t stop herself from shivering. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably and she had long ago lost all sensation in her hands and feet. Her tongue felt thick in her dry mouth. All she could taste was blood. In the corner, fetid water dripped, and she wondered whether Carey’s technique as a torturer would be as effective as the torment of that sound coupled with her thirst.

               She heard the footsteps before the door swung open, and shielded her eyes in readiness. The silhouette of Jenkins stopped in the doorway and dropped Derek’s limp form onto the floor.

               “We don’t need you,” Jenkins said casually. “He gave us everything.”

               She blinked once, unable to breathe, unable to respond. She heard Jenkins whistling softly as he pulled the door closed, but she still couldn’t move.

He’s lying.

The words repeated silently in her head. They drowned out the other voice, the niggling one reminding her of Dyson’s damning phrase: who’s to say that he won’t break again?

“No.” She barely realized that she had spoken out loud as she pulled herself to her feet and hurried over to Derek. “No, no, no. Derek?”

He hadn’t moved since Jenkins had returned him, and he didn’t react to her voice. Even in the darkness, she could see the pulped, bloody ruin of his face. When he breathed, the air wheezed in and out, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Jesus.”

The cold forgotten, she stripped her tank top off until it caught on the restraints at her wrists. Folding the cloth up, she used it to wipe the worst of the mess away. She took care to clean the blood from his nose and mouth and was gratified when his breathing became slightly easier. With a grimace, she pulled her soaked top back on.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Reese,” she muttered, lifting his T-shirt up and laying her hand over his chest. There were broken ribs on his left side that shifted beneath her fingers and were obviously affecting his breathing. She had a vague recollection of Derek turning John onto the side of his bullet wound to allow his healthy lung to work more efficiently. It seemed like a good idea and she strained to shift him, before settling his head in her lap. There was nothing more that she could do until he woke.

Sitting and waiting was not something that Sarah was good at. Even in Pescadero there had always been a plan, or a goal, or a routine of exercises to take her mind off the fact that she was trapped, that things were beyond her control. This was different, and the unfamiliar sense of helplessness made the walls seem to close in on her. Terrified for her son and completely out of options, she fought to slow her breathing. It took a couple of minutes before the suffocating sensation of panic abated, easing as suddenly as it had gripped her. She sat up straighter and welcomed the freezing draft that cleared her head and made her eyes tear. As long as they were still alive, they had a chance. As if on cue, she felt Derek stir, and the eye that wasn’t swollen shut opened a crack and struggled to focus on her.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” There was no moisture in his mouth and the word was barely more than a croak. He licked his lips, wincing when they split and bled, but he needed to be able to speak. “I…” He shook his head in utter frustration, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“It’s okay, Derek. Just lie still.” Her hand was gentle as she brushed his face dry.

“Didn’t…” Another pause as he sucked in an agonized breath; he had forgotten how much rib fractures hurt. “Didn’t tell them.” The words finally out, he sagged back against her. He heard her sob once before the darkness rushed in again.

~ ~ ~

               Derek had no way of knowing when they had taken her. He had woken suddenly, unable to move and racked with pain. Sarah was already gone.

               “Shit.”

               He laid his head against the concrete, took as deep a breath as he could bear and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Moving hurt. It hurt more than he had thought possible, and for a minute he could do nothing but sit with his eyes screwed shut and swear incoherently. When he had exhausted his repertoire of filthy words, he felt a little clearer. He looked around in an effort to take stock of their impromptu holding cell. It seemed to be completely empty. There was no convenient debris to fashion into a weapon, there was nothing at all, which meant they would have to fight their way out, and that was something he couldn’t do with his hands cuffed behind him. Biting down hard on his lip, Derek forced himself to move again.

~ ~ ~

               Sarah had lost count. At first, she had kept track of how many times Carey had reworded the same question, but both men were there now and the numbers had stopped being an effective distraction. Carey was losing his patience. Sarah was on her knees, her hands tied high on a piece of pipe. She shifted slightly, leaning forward on her bound wrists and resting her head on her arms. No sooner had she done that than a hand knotted in her hair and forced her back into an upright position.

               “You had enough, Sarah?”

               Carey’s voice had a satisfyingly nasal quality to it. She had broken his nose with her elbow when he had first dragged her into the room.

She refused to dignify him with a response, gritting her teeth as he raised the baton. He aimed for one of the incisions he had made earlier, and the blunt force of the rubber baton reopened the wound, but she didn’t react as blood began to trickle down her back. It wasn’t the first time he had done it; his methods were becoming cruder as he grew more frustrated.

               “Still got nothing to say?” He sounded out of breath, and sweat was beading on the end of his swollen nose. He swiped a clumsy hand at it, and then roared with anger at the pain he caused by disturbing the fracture. He took it out on Sarah; when Jenkins finally pulled him away, she hung limply by her wrists, clinging onto consciousness.

From what seemed like a great distance, she heard footsteps enter the room. There was a quick exchange between the three men, with Carey still sounding breathless but marginally more composed. The footsteps approached her, a rustle of thick outdoor clothing as the person crouched low. A warm hand tipped her chin. When she met his eyes, Danny Dyson flinched instinctively before he managed to cover his momentary lapse with a cold smile. He leaned so close to her that she could smell the fresh toothpaste on his breath.

“When we find John, I’ll tell him you died well.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, a lazy smile twitching the corner of her lips, but she didn’t answer. She hadn’t said a word in all the hours Carey had been working on her, and she wasn’t about to change that now.

Dyson dropped his hand. He wiped her sweat and blood onto a handkerchief with a look of disgust. Standing up, he turned his back on her and spoke to the two men.

“Get what you can. Wallace and Brooks are waiting for me. When you’re finished and the metal’s out, use the supplies in D6 and let me know when you’re clear.”

Carey grunted in affirmation and patted the baton onto his palm. “I think I got a second wind, Mr. Dyson,” he announced cheerfully.

Sarah heard Dyson laugh and the door click shut behind him. She tried not to tense when the tread of Carey’s boots grew closer. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her fingers around the metal pipe they had bound her to, and closed her eyes.

~ ~ ~

With one hand gripping each of Sarah’s arms, the two men forced her to walk back to the basement, stopping once to allow her to vomit. The door shut as soon as they had pushed her inside, and she immediately dropped to her knees. She could hear Derek scrambling to reach her, but she couldn’t do a thing to reassure him while she was trying so hard just to breathe.

“Sarah?”

“I’m fine.” She eventually managed to give her standard answer, but she was panting, her eyes screwed shut. The pain wouldn’t stop. “Jesus. Son of a bitch.”

               Derek’s fingers were freezing cold as he lifted her face to him. “Where?”

               She shook her head, and then thought better of it and gasped out her answer, “My feet.”

               There was a pause while he moved slowly to look. She heard the quiet curse he uttered.

               “They made you walk?”

               “Yes.” She was swaying slightly, sweat-slicked and pale.

               “Can you get over to the wall?”

               “Think so.”

               The closest one was right by the door. He waited until she was leaning back against it, still fighting to keep any pressure from the soles of her feet.

               “You need to rest them down, Sarah.”

               “No.”

               “It’ll help.”

               “I can’t.”

               He swallowed hard. He knew what that admission had just cost her, but he also knew that he was right. “The cold will take the swelling down. Like an ice pack.”

               “Can’t.” The word came out in a sob, but she could feel the chill of the wall beginning to ease the burning across her back, and when he carefully moved her legs to set her feet flush against the concrete she didn’t try to stop him.

               Tears streamed down her face and she closed her eyes. Her hands, now bound with rope, were in front of her, his fingers wrapped around hers, his body pressed close to her side. The silence was broken only by his rasping cough and the chatter of her teeth.

               It was a long while before he felt her relax slightly.

               “Better?”

               “Yeah. A little. You okay?” She could hear him wheezing and his chest sounded wet when he breathed.

               “Fine. It’s just the cold.”

               “Deep breathing and coughing.” He couldn’t see her, but he could tell by her voice that she was smiling. “That’s what you always tell me when I get my ribs messed up.”

               “Yeah, and you tell me to fuck off.”

               “That’s because it hurts. But I do it anyway.”

He obligingly took a deep breath, which started him coughing.

She laughed quietly. “See? It works.”

               He smiled with her, but when he turned to face her, any trace of humor had vanished. “Gotta get out of here, Sarah.”

               “I know.” They both knew they were unlikely to survive a second interrogation.

               “Next time they come, we need to be ready.”

               “The only chance we have is the element of surprise.” She was looking up at the door, attempting to gauge a plan of attack.

               He nodded. “I did my best to look half-dead when they came in.”

               “You were very convincing.”

               “Thanks.”

               “I’m guessing it’s pretty late. They might leave us for a while.”

               “You want me to take first watch? I slept already.”

               “Does being unconscious count as sleeping?” She stifled a yawn and moaned as something in her back split open and bled.

               Looping his hands over her head, he waited until she found a comfortable position. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

               “Mmhm.” She was already drowsing, half exhausted, half in shock. She could feel Derek’s fingers measuring the pulse at her wrist.

               “Lie down a little more.” Apparently he wasn’t happy with what he had counted.

               She did as he asked, closing her eyes and falling asleep to the stink of blood and mold, and the gentle shake of Derek’s legs as he coughed.

~ ~ ~

               “He told you what happened, didn’t he? That I got those people killed?” Derek’s voice drifted up out of the darkness, slurred by sleep and the swelling to his face. He had heard Dyson calling him by his rank, and if they knew that information then it made sense that they would have the rest.

               Sarah shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “No, he didn’t tell me that. He told me just enough to make me doubt you.” When she put her hand on his cheek, his skin felt feverish beneath her palm. She didn’t need him to elaborate. Not here, not now. “Derek, whatever happened to you before… It’s not my business.” She heard his breath hitch in his throat. “You don’t have to explain.”

               He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, turning in the circle of her arms to try to face her. “I wouldn’t betray John,” he said, making the effort to speak clearly. “I’d die first.”

               She smiled with recognition. Those words, that phrase, had been her own mantra when Winston had held her, but she had never told Derek that. He relaxed slightly into her hold and she thought he had gone back to sleep. She was watching the door again when he spoke.

               “It was the last time I saw Kyle. We were out on a patrol when the HK hit us. We got separated. I woke up in a wagon with a group of prisoners.”

               “Kyle wasn’t there?”

               “No. They chained us to the floor of a building. Left us there. I don’t know how long. Burned that tattoo on with a laser. When people died, the machines dragged them away like they were garbage.”

He coughed suddenly. A single cough turned into a harsh, racking bout that left him struggling for air. She helped him sit up straighter, but it was a while before he could speak again. When he did, his voice was hoarse. 

“They took us one by one. Down to the basement, and the music got clearer.”

               “Music?” Sarah put her hand to his forehead, wondering how delirious he was.

               “Classical music. You could hear it playing, the same piece over and over. When the machine pushed me inside, she was waiting.”

               “Who?” She had a nasty feeling that she already knew the answer.

               “Cameron.” He shuddered and his voice dropped to a whisper. “But it wasn’t her, and I couldn’t understand why she was there, why she didn’t help me.”

               His words made no sense to Sarah at first, but the pieces slowly slipped into place, and she understood then why his breathing was suddenly heavier and a cold sweat drenched him.

               “You knew her before. Before she was a machine.”

               He ran a hand over his face, wiping it dry. “Her name was Allison. Allison Young. She was in our squad. One day she just disappeared. We searched for her for weeks.”

               “SL12,” Sarah murmured with sudden realization as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. “Winston’s technique. She used it on you. You didn’t know she was a machine.”

               He shook his head. “She promised she would go for help, if I told her where our bunker was. I believed her. She used so many drugs, Sarah. I thought it was her. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. I gave her the location.”

               “Derek, you couldn’t…” 

He cut her off, desperate to get the rest of it out now that he was so close to the end. “It was just a fucking game to them. They left four of us alive. They let us go, but they’d already hit the bunker, and Kyle was gone.”

               “You didn’t know that John had sent him through.”

               “No. My squad leader told me that Kyle was alive, though. It should’ve been enough just to know that I hadn’t gotten him killed.”

               “But it wasn’t.”

               “No, it wasn’t,” he admitted. “I lost my brother anyway, and even though none of the others said anything, they knew the bunker was my fault.” He swallowed hard, feeling sick and struggling to find the words to explain. “It’s like… it’s not enough for the machines to slaughter us or force us into the camps. They have to take everything.”

               “It wasn’t your fault, Derek.” She suppressed a shudder. She remembered the dreadful panic that had consumed her towards the end of her own abduction, when the combination of the drugs, Winston’s persistent questioning and her utter disorientation had brought her so close to breaking.

               He didn’t challenge her. He was too weary to argue, exhausted by the effort of speaking for so long and by the awful burden of his guilt. Guilt that he had hoped to alleviate by stopping Andy Goode and resetting the clock. But he had fucked that up too, and Skynet continued to force its roots ever deeper.

               “Do you think Cameron remembers?” Sarah asked quietly, not at all sure that she wanted to hear his answer.

               “I don’t know. I hope not. But I saw her dance once, when she’d been to the ballet class, and it was the same music, the piece from the basement.”

               “Jesus.”

               “Maybe some memories filter through. Some of the things she says, the way she says them, she could be Allison. It’s just,” he hesitated, searching for the explanation. “The eyes are all wrong. There’s nothing of Allison there.”

                He coughed again, a prolonged attack that stole his breath and what little remained of his strength. The rattle of fluid in his lungs sounded terrible in the darkness.

Sarah stared at the thin strip of light that was visible beneath the door. One question repeated on a constant loop in her head: how are we going to fight them?

~ ~ ~

TBC…

~ ~ ~