Fic - Know Your Exits 6/7

[cj2017]

Title: Know Your Exits (6/7)

Rating: Hard R: violence, sex, huge amounts of bad language, discussion of adult themes, a pretty spectacular body count, casual slaughter of the innocent (including one minor series character), and scenes of a medical nature that might cause queasiness in those with a sensitive disposition.

Word Count: About 30,500 all told. This part 3,600

Disclaimer: Don’t own them. Wish I did. And I have shamelessly pinched some of their dialogue.

 

~ ~ ~

Know Your Exits 6/7

~ ~ ~

               Agent Auldridge turned a corner and walked straight into hell. Lights hung loose from their ceiling fixtures, showering sparks onto the bodies scattered along the corridor. Some of the victims moaned, clutching wounds and trying to push themselves out of harm’s way, their hands and eyes beseeching him to help them. Auldridge stepped around them, walking cautiously towards the only person still standing - a form not much taller than himself – the one who had caused this carnage, and who was now striding unmolested through the path he had cleared.

               “FBI! Put your hands where I can see them. Kneel on the ground!”

               The figure continued to walk forward; his hands were already visible to the agent and both held firearms. Two more steps, and Auldridge didn’t shout another warning, instead firing repeatedly into the chest and head of his target, and watching in horror as the man continued to move, oblivious to the wounds Auldridge had just inflicted.

               “Stop.” Less of a command than a plea, and it faded in his throat when the figure stepped out of the smoke. The bullet struck Auldridge in the chest, a shock of pain that made his legs collapse, and he hit the wall before sliding slowly to the floor. The red eye of the figure glowed, its pupil dilating and constricting with a metallic whir as it evaluated the fallen agent. Half of its flesh had been torn from its face, chrome glistening beneath the gore and tattered skin. Auldridge shivered, shock and terror taking hold, as the machine stepped over him and walked unhurriedly in the direction of the infirmary. The instant before he lost consciousness, Auldridge prayed that Sarah Connor would forgive him.

~ ~ ~

               Electronic Lock Sub-system: OVERRIDE COMBINATION: VG65-12

               The line of code was already typed into the command prompt on the laptop, the red lights set at strategic intervals throughout the plan of the jail, waiting for the signal that would change them all to green. 9.50 pm had already passed; John sat beside Derek, watching the rolling news coverage of an armed riot at the LA County Jail. With the reporters unable to get close, helicopters circled warily overhead, beaming back murky footage of billowing smoke and emergency vehicles rushing to the scene.

               At Derek’s nod, John deleted the code and leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes. There was no way they could release hundreds of prisoners with a T-888 on the rampage. They had hoped to provide a diversion, not be the cause of a massacre. John closed the security program and turned down the volume on the news broadcast; the journalists knew less than he did, and their breathless speculation was making his head hurt. He had no doubt that the story was an absolute gift for the media, but, somewhere in the midst of it, his mother was being hunted.

~ ~ ~

               The door opened with the slightest of creaks, and Sarah heard something take two steps across the threshold, then stop. She held her breath, aware that the room was being scanned, aware that she could not remain concealed for longer than a heartbeat. Poised like a sprinter on the starting line, she could feel her pulse pounding so loudly she was certain it would give her away. The footsteps moved again, heading straight towards her. She gauged their approach and her own reach, waiting for as long as she dared before hurtling to her feet and crashing the tray against her target. It felt like she had hit a brick wall; the force took her onto her knees, where she found herself staring at a pair of highly polished, regulation boots in a size far too small to belong to the T-888. The boots matched the rest of the police uniform that Cameron had appropriated to facilitate her entrance into the jail.

               “Shit.” Sarah’s throat worked convulsively, her stomach knotting. If Cameron was here then… “John?” His name came out in a gasp, as her knees gave way and she sagged against the bed.

Having picked up the gun that Sarah had knocked to the floor, Cameron gently prised the shattered piece of porcelain from her hand and snapped the chain on the handcuffs.

               “John’s fine. Derek got the drugs to him in time.” She heard Sarah take a shaky breath, and narrowed her eyes. “You look like hell. Can you keep up?”

               Not quite trusting her voice, Sarah nodded, allowing the machine to help her to her feet, and trying not to stagger when the room spun and shimmered. She pressed her hand against the wall, her breathing quick and irregular, as her body told her in no uncertain terms that no part of it appreciated being upright.

               “We have to go.” Cameron was watching the door; the approaching gunfire had quieted, suggesting that there were no more obstacles in the T-888’s path, that they were already out of time.

               Sarah raised her head, her hair damp with sweat, her face set with pain, and held her hand out for a weapon. She tucked the Glock she was offered into the back of her infirmary-issue pants and gestured for another. The Remington 870 was fully loaded and achingly heavy in her hand, and she took a deep, calm breath as her nerves began to fade.

               “Okay. Go.”

               On her own cue, she took one step, then another, her bare feet soundless on the tiled floor, following Cameron’s lead out of the room and into the darkened corridor.

Barely ten yards from the infirmary, Cameron stopped. With no time for a warning, she pushed Sarah into a doorway before unloading both of her weapons into the rapidly approaching T-888. Sarah flattened herself into the small niche, deafened by the roar of the guns discharging so close to her, but when she saw Cameron’s lips shape the word back, she sprinted towards the infirmary without hesitation, diving through the door as bullets clattered around her. More shots, closer, louder, then the crash of machine against machine; plaster dust fell from the ceiling the instant before Cameron was flung through the wall, smashing into a heap, where she lay twitching rapidly but devoid of any purposeful movement.

               The T-888 had barely set foot in the room when Sarah fired the Remington, opening a gaping hole in the machine’s chest and forcing it to take a step back. With a snarl, she pumped the weapon again, her right arm bearing the brunt of the effort, her left only good to balance the gun as she fired. Her second shot tore an arm off the machine, cables fizzing and sparking as the limb flew across the room in a spray of ersatz blood, taking its gun with it, but by no means evening the odds. Another reload, another explosion, and the fucking thing wouldn’t fall, reaching for her with its remaining arm outstretched, well aware that that would be more than enough to kill her.

Knocking IV stands and monitors to the floor, Sarah staggered backwards, her muscles burning as she pumped round after round into the monster that had put a bullet in her child and left him to die. She realized that she was screaming at the same time as she realized that the next cartridge would be her last. Backed into the corner, she gasped for breath, her fingers numb, her ears ringing. One more shot, and she took his eye out with it, the red glow exploding as the human-mask of its face disintegrated. It paused, disorientated, and Sarah threw herself beneath the bed in the same instant that Cameron picked herself up from the floor.

Approaching from the T-888’s blind side, Cameron slammed it against the wall, pounding its head again and again, aiming the impact for the weakened areas that Sarah had exposed. Its remaining eye dimmed and brightened, circuitry malfunctioning even as it grappled for Cameron’s throat. With one hand, Cameron ripped the end-railing from the bed. Sarah, realizing her intention, crawled to a set of drawers and began to upend them, searching frantically amongst the equipment. By the time Cameron had the T-888 pinned under the rail, Sarah had found what she needed; she dropped down beside the machine’s head and used the scalpel to cut deeply into its flesh.

“Two inches to the left.”

Cameron’s voice echoed strangely, but Sarah obeyed it, shifting her aim and peeling back the scalp to expose the chrome skull of the machine. Flicking the protective cap away with the scalpel, she gripped the chip beneath it with a pair of forceps. One clockwise turn, and the chip lifted easily, the terminator powering down with a mechanized sigh as the light in its eye finally faded, then died.

~ ~ ~

               Sarah was still staring at the chip in her hand as she vaguely sensed Cameron limp out of the room. She clawed herself to her feet, trying to fight the leaden sensation that was numbing her limbs and dulling her thoughts.

               “Put these on, quickly.”

               Sarah blinked, her eyes narrowing in confusion; she hadn’t heard Cameron return. She realized that Cameron had stripped a guard of his uniform and was holding the clothes out to her. She reached for them, the pants falling to the floor as her left hand failed to find purchase. She felt Cameron thread her arms into the shirt and fasten the buttons for her, before kneeling and helping her to pull the pants on.

               “It might be safer if you sit down.”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m okay.”

               Apparently, the machine knew better than to argue. “Get the arm.” She pointed Sarah in the direction the limb had travelled in and left her to retrieve it. Opening her duffel bag, she pulled out a container and sprinkled thermite generously over and around the remains of the T-888. Then, as she waited for Sarah to return, she pulled the controlled drugs safe from the wall and took the opportunity to replenish their supplies.

               “You’re gonna burn it?” Sarah placed the arm on the T-888’s chest and eyed the thermite warily, mindful of the victims lying in the corridors, still in need of evacuation.

               “Yes. We can’t remove it. The infirmary is set apart from the main body of the jail. It should give people time. There is no other option.” Cameron took the handcuffs from her uniform and closed one side around the bed’s rail, removing the broken set that had been used to restrain Sarah. “If the fire takes hold, they may believe you died in it.”

               Sarah nodded; it was a good idea, and if she had been functioning at the top of her game she might have thought of it herself.

Reaching up to Sarah’s forehead, Cameron encouraged the blood that was trickling from a split stitch to run down her cheek, before pulling a cap down low over her face. Sparks flew from the flare as soon as Cameron struck it, and she set it down on the thermite, waiting until the powder glowed white-hot and began to eat away at the ruined endoskeleton. Smoke rose thick and choking.

Sarah coughed, her eyes starting to water. “We need to go.”

               “Yes. Lean on me.” Cameron hefted the bag and held her arm out.

               “I’m fine.”

               “I know. It’ll look better. Lean on me.”

               Sarah slowly caught the implication and allowed Cameron to wrap an arm around her. Voices were already audible, heading in their direction, as the flames crept and spread through the room.

“Keep your head down.”

Staggering alongside the machine, Sarah saw the boots of Fire and Rescue teams rushing by them, and heard Cameron announce, “She’s injured, I need to get her out of here,” and their affirmative responses. They stepped over the paramedics treating the fallen, now fewer in number, the most critical having been treated and removed first. No-one stopped them as they made their way to the exit, and, in the fresh chaos sown by the fire, no-one thought to question why the injured prison guard being helped along by the police officer was barefoot.

~ ~ ~

               Cameron propped Sarah up against the patrol car, aware that for the last ten minutes Sarah’s need for her assistance had not been feigned.

               “Lie down in the back.”

               “Mmhmm.” Sarah didn’t argue; lying down seemed like an excellent idea, and she crawled onto the seat, shivering uncontrollably. “Where’s the truck?” Her teeth chattered on every word, prompting Cameron to wrap a jacket over her.

               “Hidden. We’ll pick it up in a half-hour or so.”

               The engine started, red and blue flashing across the windows as Cameron pulled out slowly and made her way to the main gate. When the guard signaled for her to stop, her hand reached surreptitiously for the 9mm at the side of her seat, but he took one look at her uniform, became mercifully distracted by a fire-truck on its way in, and waved her through.

               “Cover your face.” A low warning to Sarah, and just in time, as multiple camera flashes assailed them from the media gathered just beyond the security cordon. Cameron drove through as quickly as she dared, clearing the line then accelerating hard, maintaining her speed onto the freeway. Dropping to the legal limit, she switched the strobes off, cranked up the heater and glanced in the rearview mirror.

               “We’re clear.”

               Sarah opened her eyes, the briefest hint of a smile crossing her face. But she made no attempt to sit up.

~ ~ ~

               The wheels skidded slightly and churned up dust as Cameron pulled the truck to a stop at the roadside. Still in the back seat, Sarah was barely visible under a blanket, and didn’t stir as she slept off a dose of codeine.

               Three coded beeps, and John answered his cellphone, his voice agitated and scared. “Is everything okay?”

               “Everything’s fine.” Cameron did her best to sound reassuring. “The Triple 8 is destroyed…”

               John cut her off. “My mom?”

               “She’s fine.” It wasn’t the first lie she had ever told him. “She’s sleeping, I don’t want to wake her.”

               “Okay, okay.” He couldn’t disguise the tremor in his voice. “Derek wants to speak to you, hold on.”

               A brief pause, and then she heard Derek take the phone and walk a short distance, closing a door behind him.

               “How is she?”

               “She took pain relief without being prompted. She’s sleeping.”

               “Fuck.” Footsteps as he paced.

               “It hasn’t been safe for me to stop for any length of time.”

               “No. Try and keep going. How far out are you?”

               “Approximately five hours.”

               “Right, right.” Wood creaked, and she realized he had gone outside and was walking across the cabin’s front porch. “Let me know if anything changes.”

               “Yes.”

               It had been an order, not a request, but Cameron noted that he waited for her to answer before he ended the call.

As the truck began to move again, Sarah mumbled softly, and Cameron reached back, pulling the blanket straight, as they passed the city limits.

~ ~ ~

               The burger was a funny shade of gray, limp lettuce added as an afterthought, grease slick on its paper wrapper. Sarah looked at it with disdain before dropping it back in its bag.

               Cameron watched her through the rearview mirror. “Derek says you should eat something.”

               “Yeah, well, I could eat it…” Sarah closed the bag tightly, her stomach recoiling from the smell, “…but Derek won’t be happy if I puke all over his truck again.” She leaned her head back against the seat, wishing it would stop pounding, wishing everything would stop pounding, and offered a compromise. “I’ll drink some of the juice, okay? Next time he calls, tell him I drank some of the juice.”

               The Gatorade surprised her by actually settling her stomach a little. She managed half of the bottle, which earned her a quick nod of satisfaction from Cameron. She screwed the top back on tightly and set it aside. She had half-heard the soft hum of the radio while she had been dozing, and she leaned forward slightly in the seat, her mouth dry again despite the juice.

“How many died?”

Cameron didn’t try to defer the question, and she had enough sense not to use empty platitudes in an attempt to alleviate the guilt evident in Sarah’s voice. “Eighteen. Twenty-three injured, twelve of those are critical. The infirmary was completely destroyed. Later reports are listing you amongst the dead.”

“Jesus.” Racked by a sudden chill, Sarah shuddered, sitting back and drawing the blanket over herself. Outside the window, gray clouds were massing, rain beginning to clatter against the glass. She closed her eyes, listening to the storm gathering strength. “Jesus.”

~ ~ ~

               It was always the same. Blood and fire and metal and her son lying broken and motionless as the machine grinned and the world ended.

               “Sarah?”

               Sarah flinched at the touch on her shoulder, her eyes flying open. She closed them again when she realized that she was still in the truck, the leather seats sticky with tears and blood and saliva. It took her a minute to sit up, cleaning her face with the coarse wool of the blanket.

               “How far away are we?”

               Cameron had stopped the truck. Sarah lowered a window, the cool air making her shiver, but it smelled of fresh rain and pine, and that told her they were close. She took the water that Cameron handed back and sipped it gratefully.

               “We’re seven miles out. You said to wake you at five, but…”

               “No, it’s fine.” Sarah’s throat was parched; she knew she had been screaming.

Opening her door, she pulled herself out of the truck and straightened with a groan. The codeine had long since worn off. Her bare feet sank into wet earth, and she ignored the sting of something sharp as she took the three steps to the front passenger door. It opened for her, Cameron leaning across with a look of barely concealed disapproval.

“John knows that you are hurt.”

“I know.” Sarah wiped the cold sweat from her forehead with the stained bandage around her wrist, and allowed Cameron to clip her seatbelt into place.

“I don’t think this will fool either of them.”

Sarah looked at the machine, who was staring at her with a perplexed expression. “I know.” She shrugged in lieu of an explanation. “But you can’t blame a girl for trying.” She nodded to Cameron and eased herself back in the seat. “Drive.”

~ ~ ~                    

               At some point while Sarah had been asleep, Cameron had called John, and he was waiting outside with Derek when the truck pulled up.

His haste made him fumble as he tried to open the passenger door. Sarah stared at him, forgetting to help, barely able to believe how well he looked compared with the last time she had seen him. When he finally flung the door wide, he knelt without hesitation and wrapped his good arm around her. He sobbed once, the sound choked off and muffled by her clothing, but she could feel the fine tremors that were coursing through him as he held her. She kissed the top of his head, her own tears falling unheeded into his hair as her grip on his shirt turned her fingers white. Minutes passed before he drew away, and his wince when he looked up at her had nothing to do with his own injury.

“God, mom.” He tugged his sleeve down over his hand and wiped her eyes, the lightest of touches around the one that remained bloodshot and swollen. “They made a mess of you.”

“They made a mess of us both.” She put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back slightly so she could see him properly. “Are you really alright?”

He nodded. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” That earned him a raised eyebrow, and he grinned. “Yeah, I know, like that’ll ever happen.”

Sarah could see Cameron consulting with Derek by the cabin. As he began to walk over, she swung her legs slowly down to the ground. He stopped a couple of paces away, his question unspoken but his face easy for her to read: can you make it?

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head once. “John, go help Cameron with the bags,” she ordered firmly.

John looked at her for a long moment before abandoning any attempt at protest. A quick kiss on her cheek, and he left her alone with Derek.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

“Hey yourself.” Derek put his arm around her. “I guess you’re going to be walking.”

“Yeah.”

He laughed softly and eased her to her feet, tightening his hold when she swayed.

“You staying up?” She had closed her eyes, her breath coming fast and shallow against his cheek, but he felt her nod.

“Yeah.”

               “Okay, then.”

               They took a step together, then another. It was slow and awkward and she realized that there was glass in her feet, but she didn’t fall.

~ ~ ~

TBC…

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