Terminator Salvation: Cold War

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Gasping for breath, they dragged themselves to shore, many miles downstream from the battle at the bridge. Molly guessed that they’d been in the water for maybe ten minutes, tops, but it felt like hours had passed since they’d thrown themselves into the freezing current. Her entire body felt black and blue from bouncing over the rapids. She shivered from head to foot. Her legs were wobbly.

She leaned against Sitka, the two women clinging to each other for support as they staggered away from the water, splashing through the thin ice and slush at the edge of the riverbank. Slowing as it rounded a rocky shoal, the river had slackened just enough to give them a chance to break free from the current. It was shallower and narrower here, too.

Another lucky break.

Thank God they hadn’t gone over any waterfalls!

Exhausted, they collapsed onto the snow. Molly coughed up a gallon of water. She listened intently for the roar of the snowmachines, but heard only the river continuing on its way. If nothing else, they had escaped the vicious killers, who were presumably far behind them now, and in no position to follow them down the river. Sure, they can ski, she gloated, reveling for the moment in their unlikely escape. But they damn well can’t swim!

Icy water dripped from her hair and clothes. Tremors shook her body. Forget the machines, she thought. Hypothermia was their enemy now. If anything, it felt colder on the shore than it had been in the water. The bitter wind chill could kill them just as surely as a Terminator’s bullets. At best, they had maybe a couple of hours before they froze to death. Probably less, given how drenched they were. She could feel her sodden clothing freezing already.

Fuck, it was cold!

“Up!” she ordered Sitka, resisting the temptation to sink forever into the soft white drifts. She hauled herself to her feet and turned her thoughts to survival. Years of wilderness training came to her rescue. Shelter, she realized. That was their top priority. She nudged Sitka with her toe. Water slushed inside the boot. “Up and at ‘em.” Her teeth chattered. “We’ve g-got work to do.”

It took a couple of prods, but the grumbling teen finally got up.

“Always so b-b-bossy.” Her soggy red mane was plastered to her head. Her lips were blue. She fumbled in her fanny pack for a cigarette lighter. Shaking fingers tried to get a spark going. “F-fire?”

Molly shook her head. The snow and frost had left any available tinder too damp to kindle; by the time they got a fire going, it would be too late. Besides, they couldn’t risk the Terminators seeing the smoke or flames.

“Sh-shelter.” She hugged herself to keep warm. It didn’t work. “F-follow me.”

There was nothing to work with by the river’s edge, so they had to trek deeper into the woods before they found enough timber and debris to construct a crude shelter. While Sitka gathered as many fallen branches, leaves, ferns, and pine needles as she could rustle up, Molly got to work on the basic construction. First, she dug a shallow depression in the snow, barely big enough to hold both her and Sitka. She spread the branches and ground cover over the frozen earth like a carpet, then built a simple wooden framework over the ditch. Two crossed sticks, thrust upright into the dirt and snow supported a longer, diagonal ridgeline

Working together, they leaned the extra branches and debris against the central pole, forming a crude lean-to whose narrow opening rose less than a foot above the surface. The rest of the structure tapered to the ground behind the opening. Packed snow, heaped up against the angled sides of the shelter, provided an additional level of insulation. Given time, it would freeze solid, hopefully keeping the two women from doing the same.

Panting, Molly paused long enough to inspect their work. It wasn’t much to look at, but it might keep them alive until the sun came up. She shivered in the wind, taking shelter behind a nearby pine. The heavy exertion had warmed her up some, but had also left her dangerously soaked in sweat. Sitka looked just as cold. They had to get out of the wind before it was too late.

“Y-you first,” Molly said. “H-hurry.”

For once, the feral teen didn’t put up a fight. Getting down on the ground in front of the narrow opening, she wriggled feet-first into the shelter. Molly gave her a five-second head start, then squeezed in after her. It was a tight fit, but there was just enough room for both of them. Their faces were only inches apart. Molly could practically hear the girl’s heartbeat.

“S-still cold,” Sitka complained. “Brrr.”

“It’ll warm up,” Molly promised. “Soon.”

They stripped off their wet clothes at last, then stuffed the wadded fabric in the mouth of the shelter to keep out the cold. They huddled together, sharing whatever body heat they could still muster. The packed branches and snow kept the warmth inside, just like it was supposed to. For the first time since she had dived into the river, Molly started to feel less like an icicle.

“Uh, Molly,” Sitka murmured. “Wrong time to mention that I think I might be gay?”

“Yeah,” Molly said firmly. “Wrong time.”

Later on in the night, she thought she heard the girl crying.

“I know,” Molly said. “I miss Doc, too.”

She wondered what had become of Geir and the others.

The next morning, they crouched around a modest campfire. They’d had to strip the damp bark from the kindling to get to its dry, flammable core, but it had been worth the effort. Their frozen parkas and boots were finally starting to dry out. They shared some scraps of smoked meat that had somehow survived their trip down the river. Molly decided she’d never again tease Sitka about being a packrat.

The sound of a helicopter’s blades chopping up the air electrified both campers. They knew rescue was at hand. Skynet didn’t bother with helicopters. Hunter-Killers were its aircraft of choice. So they leaped to their feet and ran down to the shore, where they jumped up and down like maniacs, waving their arms in the air.

Molly would have killed for another roman candle, but it turned out she didn’t need one. A Chinook transport chopper touched down on the riverbed. A door in its side slid open. A Resistance pilot sporting a red armband called out to them.

“You Kookesh? General Losenko sent me.”

Within moments, they were safe and warm aboard the chopper. Molly quickly briefed the pilot on their experiences, then pumped him for information.

“Any other survivors?”

“Not yet,” the pilot said. A nametag on his uniform identified him as CARLINO. He had a Brooklyn accent. He looked nothing like Geir. “But we’re still looking.”

Molly flinched. A sinking feeling came over her.

“Any other aircraft in the vicinity? An old World War II fighter maybe?”

“No, ma’am.” The chopper prepared to take off again. “My orders are to ferry you to the base in the Yukon. You’ll be safe there.” He shrugged. “Well, as much as any place is safe these days.”

Molly shook her head.

“Take her.” She stepped away from Sitka. “I’m not going anywhere. All I need from you are dry clothes, some ammo, and a survival kit.” She looked out the window of the chopper. “I’m not done here yet.”

“Going with you then,” Sitka insisted. She crossed her arms atop her chest. “Sticking together all the way.”

“Not this time.” Molly figured the girl knew why Molly needed to stay behind, but that didn’t matter. “This is personal. You go with these pilots. Be safe.” She played her trump card. “It’s what Doc would have wanted.”

Sitka couldn’t argue with that. Pouting, she slumped into her seat.

“Not fair. Sucks.”

Molly wasn’t sure if she was referring to the invocation of Doc Rathbone or just the situation in general.

She peeled the red armband off her sleeve. It was a bit soggy and faded, but still intact.

“Here,” she said. “I think I promised you this.”

The girl’s face lit up a little. She eagerly claimed the token.

“Earned it?”

“You bet.”

A half-hour later, after wrangling some fresh clothes and supplies, Molly stood upon the shore and watched the Chinook take off into the sky. Sitka waved at her from a window. Molly waved back until the chopper was too high up to see anything.

Give my regards to the old Russian, she had told the pilot right before she got out of the ‘copter. I owe him one.

The Chinook disappeared, leaving her alone in the wilderness.

She started walking.