Terminator Salvation: From the Ashes

CHAPTER

FIVE

Breakfast at Moldering Lost Ashes that morning consisted of a handful of dried seed pods from one of the wild plants that had popped up around the city over the past few years, plus a slice of three-day-old coyote.

Kyle and Star ate quickly, which was usually the best way to get three-day-old coyote down, and then made their way up the untrustworthy stairways to the highest inhabitable part of the rickety building.

Kyle didn’t really like sentry duty. Not so much because it was boring, but because if Skynet ever launched an attack he and Star would be stuck up here, instead of downstairs where they could help.

Chief Grimaldi, the man running the building, didn’t think that would happen as long as the people here minded their own business. But Orozco said it would, and that was good enough for Kyle.

The southeast sentry post had once been the outside corner of a fancy apartment’s living room. It wasn’t so fancy now, though. The firestorm that had swept the city on Judgment Day had blown off one of the living room’s outer walls, along with half of the other wall and most of the ceiling. The result was a roughly three-meter-square section of floor that gave a clear view of that part of the city, but which was largely open to the elements.

Today, those elements consisted of a sporadic southwest wind that grabbed at the collar of Kyle’s thin coat as he and Star stepped off the stairway onto the platform. He pulled the collar back into place as he went to the equipment alcove set into the sentry post’s inner wall. There was supposed to be a spare blanket up here, but a quick check of the alcove showed no sign of it.

Apparently, whoever had been on duty during the night had taken it with him when he left.

That, or else someone had sneaked up between shifts and stolen it. Chief Grimaldi said things like that didn’t happen here, but Kyle knew they sometimes did.

Orozco didn’t much like Grimaldi. He’d never actually said anything, but Kyle could tell.

Grimaldi had run some sort of group before Judgment Day, something called a corporation, which had made him think he could run anything. Some of the other people on the Board that made all the decisions had worked in the same corporation he had, which was probably how Grimaldi had been chosen chief.

Orozco hadn’t been there when the Board was set up. He’d arrived only two years ago, a year after Kyle and Star had stumbled across the building and had been allowed to move in. What Kyle couldn’t figure out was once Orozco had shown up, why he hadn’t been put in charge instead of Grimaldi. Orozco had been a soldier once, and in Kyle’s book that had to count more than anything anyone else had been doing before Judgment Day.

But Kyle was only sixteen, so of course he wasn’t on the Board. He didn’t get a voice in any of their discussions, either, the way some of the adults did. The way it worked was that Grimaldi or one of his men told Kyle where to go scrounging for food or supplies, or Orozco told him which post he’d been assigned for sentry duty, and Kyle would do it.

It irritated him sometimes, especially when Grimaldi tried to use words like tactics or strategy or logistics when Kyle could tell from Orozco’s expression that Grimaldi didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about. Sometimes, usually late at night, Kyle thought about saying good-bye to Orozco, packing up his and Star’s few belongings, and getting out of here.

But bad moods like that never lasted very long. The Ashes could be annoying, but he and Star were eating at least one meal every day here, and had a safe place to sleep. Considering some of the places they’d been, that all by itself made it worth putting up with a little irritation.

Beside him, Star shivered. “Cold?” he asked.

I’m okay, she signed back even as she shivered again.

“You could go sit over there by the alcove,” Kyle suggested. “You’d be out of the wind there.”

But then I won’t be able to see anything, she pointed out.

“That’s okay,” Kyle assured her. “I can watch alone for awhile.”

Star shook her head. I’m okay.

Kyle sighed. Star considered his sentry duty to be her sentry duty, too, and she took the job every bit as seriously as he did. Aside from physically carrying her over to the alcove, there was no way he was going to get her there, and aside from physically sitting on her, there would be no way he could make her stay.

“Fine,” he said. Standing up, he walked around her and sat down again so that he was at least between her and the wind.

She gave him one of those half patient, half exasperated looks that she did so well, and for a moment Kyle thought she was going to get up and go sit in the wind again just to show him she didn’t need babying. But Kyle was as stubborn as she was, and they both knew it, and so rather than playing a pointless game of leapfrog with him and the wind, she just rolled her eyes, drew her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her thin arms around them.

Smiling to himself, Kyle turned his eyes back to the ruined city.

The wind apparently wasn’t nearly so potent down at street level, and he could see a soft mist rolling in from the direction of the ocean, the drifting tendrils masking some of the jaggedness of the streets and rubble-filled lots below.

Unfortunately, the mist did an equally good job of masking the movements of people and animals, which was going to make Kyle’s job that much harder. Keeping his eyes moving, paying particular attention to the spots where he knew some of the neighborhood’s troublemakers liked to gather, he settled down to the long hours ahead.

There wasn’t much activity today. A few of the other residents were out and about, mostly scrounging for canned food that might have been missed by earlier searchers. Some of the Ashes’

residents were out, too, though mostly they were digging through the rubble for building materials to prop up a section of the building’s southern wall that Grimaldi’s people said was in danger of collapsing. There was very little gang movement, with only a few members of one of the packs roaming the streets several blocks to the south. That would change when darkness came, though.

As for Skynet, all Kyle could see of its presence was a single HK moving back and forth across the eastern sky. If any of the T-600 Terminators were out and about, they were someplace he couldn’t see them.

Noon came and went. He and Star each had a few sips from the post’s water bottle, and about an hour after noon they shared a small piece of coyote that Kyle had saved from breakfast. By mid-afternoon most of the locals had finished their foraging, either finding what they were looking for or else giving up, and had headed back to secure their homes against the nighttime gang activity.

It was late afternoon when Star tapped Kyle urgently on the arm and pointed to the east.

Hunching over a little, Kyle sighted along her arm, searching for whatever it was that she’d seen.

There it was: a group of people approaching down one of the area’s better east-west streets.

There were six men in the main party, escorting two heavily-laden burros each, and there were at least two outriders Kyle could see traveling along a block ahead of the others. The main group was keeping to the middle of the street, where it would be harder for someone to ambush them.

“Did Orozco say anything about traders coming here today?” he asked Star.

Not to me, she signed.

Kyle pursed his lips. This could be exactly what it looked like: a visit by the traders who came in sometimes from the hardscrabble farmlands to the east and north. Just because Star or even Orozco hadn’t heard they were coming didn’t necessarily mean anything. Traders didn’t exactly operate on a regular schedule.

But it could also be a gang of robbers masquerading as traders in hopes of getting the people in the area to let their guard down. The burros might not be carrying trade goods, but merely the robbers’ collection of loot. It was a ploy that Orozco had often warned his sentries to watch out for.

“Binoculars, please,” he said.

She nodded and retrieved the scuffed leather binocular case from the equipment alcove. She handed the case to Kyle, then returned to the alcove, standing ready beside the tray of signaling stones.

Carefully, Kyle removed the binoculars from the case. Technically, he remembered Orozco saying once, this was actually a monocular, since the left set of lenses was broken. Lifting the instrument to his eyes, he focused on the approaching men and animals.

They were definitely not the same men who’d been with the traders who’d come through the neighborhood six months ago.

Kyle grimaced. The fact that he hadn’t seen them before also didn’t necessarily mean anything.

People out in the farming regions came and went as often as people here in the city did. Still, Orozco’s number one rule was that it was better to be safe than sorry. Lowering the binoculars, he gave Star a nod.

“Three and two.”

She nodded back and selected five of the fingertip-sized stones from the tray. Crossing to the ragged-edged opening between the alcove and the stairway, she got down on her knees and carefully dropped the first three stones, one at a time, down the hole. She paused, and Kyle watched her lips move as she counted out five seconds, then dropped the other two, again one at a time.

And with that, there was nothing for them to do but wait and continue watching. Lifting the binoculars again, Kyle first gave his whole sector a careful sweep, then turned his attention back to the approaching men.

The party had made it about half the distance to the Ashes when Kyle heard the sound of footsteps on the stairway. He lowered the binoculars just as Beth, one of the building’s fourteen-year-olds, stepped into view.

“I’m supposed to take over,” she announced, panting with the exertion of her climb. “Orozco wants you down at the main entrance.”

“Got it,” Kyle said, standing up and handing her the binoculars. The girl winced like he was offering her a live snake, but gamely took them. A few months ago Beth had been unfortunate enough to be present when her older brother Mick had been goofing around and had dropped one of Orozco’s other sets of binoculars. She’d also been present when Orozco chewed the boy out over the incident, and had been terrified of binoculars ever since.

Going down the stairs was just as hazardous as going up, but at least it was faster and didn’t take as much effort. Kyle and Star reached the main entrance to find Orozco and three of Grimaldi’s men in quiet but earnest conversation beneath the archway. All four were armed, Orozco with his usual M16 and Beretta, the others with some of the building’s collection of hunting rifles and shotguns.

Orozco looked up as Kyle and Star approached and beckoned them over.

“Report,” he said.

“At least eight men and twelve burros approaching from the east,” Kyle told him. “Could be traders, but I didn’t recognize any of them.”

One of the others, a short balding man named Wadleigh, gave a snort.

“You scrambled us for traders?” he demanded.

“I didn’t recognize any of them,” Kyle repeated, standing his ground. “Who knows who they are?”

“They’re traders, kiddo,” Wadleigh explained with exaggerated patience. “The animals alone prove that. Unless you think someone’s opened a Hertz Rent-A-Burro for the L.A. gangs to use?”

He looked at Orozco. “I thought this stone system was supposed to have enough nuances to keep us from having to drop everything every time one of your sentries got nervous.”

“Is that what you think?” Orozco asked calmly. “That Reese just got nervous? That’s your professional military opinion?”

“Don’t pull that professional military crap on me,” Wadleigh said scornfully. “I may not have been a sergeant in the army, but I do know something about tactics and strategy, thank you.”

“I’m sure you do,” Orozco agreed. “And your suggested course of action?”

Wadleigh rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he growled. “As long as we’ve been interrupted anyway, we might as well play it through.”

“Thank you,” Orozco said. “Get your fire teams together, and get to your posts.”

“Sure.” Wadleigh threw another look at Kyle, then gestured to the other two men and strode off across the lobby toward the hallway that led to the rear of the building.

Orozco let them get to the far side of the cracked fountain basin in the center of the lobby before clearing his throat.

“By the way, Wadleigh,” he called after them, his voice loud enough to be heard all the way at the back of the balcony, ‘scramble’ refers to aircraft. The proper term for activating ground forces is either ‘turn to’ or ‘lock and load’.”

Wadleigh threw a glare over his shoulder. But it seemed to Kyle that the glare was tinged with embarrassment, and the man turned and kept going without saying anything. A few seconds later, he and the others disappeared down the hallway.

“Idiot,” Kyle said quietly.

“That the way a soldier talks about his superiors?” Orozco asked.

Kyle grimaced. “No, sir. Sorry.”

“Better,” Orozco said, nodding. “Doesn’t change the fact that Wadleigh is an idiot, of course.

But he’s an idiot who’s willing to pick up a gun and help defend our home and our lives, and for that he deserves your respect. Now, what’s your reading on our visitors?”

“They probably really are just traders,” Kyle admitted. He’d stood up to Wadleigh’s scorn just fine, but under Orozco’s steady gaze he could feel his confidence melting into a vague feeling of foolishness.

“But the back of your neck’s still prickling?” Orozco persisted.

Kyle thought about it.

“I guess so,” he said. “Yes, it is.”

“Then you made the right call,” Orozco said. “Always listen to your neck and your gut. What’s their ETA?”

“Probably about ten minutes,” he said. “Maybe less. They were moving pretty fast.”

“Were they, now,” Orozco said. “Interesting.”

“Why?” Kyle asked.

“Because quick movement attracts the eye, which is something to Be avoided these days,”

Orozco said. “Besides that, peddlers and traders working a neighborhood don’t generally want to rush through it. Not without a really good reason.”

He shifted his M16 to his left hand and drew his Beretta.

“Here,” he said, reversing the pistol and handing it to Kyle. “You and Star take backup position around the right side of the fountain. I’ll hold my rifle either across my chest or else pointed at the visitors. If everything’s okay, I’ll lift the muzzle to point at the ceiling.”

“And we should come out then?”

“Or you can stay hidden,” Orozco said. “Your choice. If I instead lower the muzzle to point at the floor, start shooting. Remember to take out the ones with weapons first.”

“Right.” Kyle took the gun, checking the safety, the clip, and the chamber the way Orozco had taught him. Then, heart pounding, he gestured to Star and headed across the lobby to the fountain.

Orozco counted out seven minutes before he heard the sound of shuffling feet and clattering hooves coming along the street from the south.

That alone was unusual. A short block and a half south of the building’s archway, lying on its side across the street, was an old city bus that had probably been sitting there rusting since Judgment Day. The bus’ body was in remarkably solid condition, though, which made it an ideal spot from which to launch an ambush. Orozco had occasionally toyed with the idea of using it as an observation post, but had concluded that the lines of communication back to the building were too iffy for it to be safe for any of his young sentries.

But strangers had no way of knowing the bus was harmless, which was why those approaching Moldering Lost Ashes usually avoided the whole questionable situation by coming in from the north. Either this new group was strong enough not to care about possible traps, or else there was someone—or something—to the north that they were even more anxious to avoid.

Whichever it was, this could end up being a very unpleasant morning. Lifting the M16 to ready position across his chest, Orozco mentally prepared himself for combat.

If it was a raid, though, the bandits were playing it cool. The first man to come into view was wearing a holstered sidearm, but both hands were busy with the leads of two of the burros Kyle had mentioned. His face was turned upward as he walked, his oriental eyes clearly searching for something on the wall above the archway.

Orozco let him get three more steps, then cleared his throat.

“Afternoon,” he called.

The man jerked and came to an instant halt, his eyes snapping from his survey of the building to Orozco and his rifle.

“Afternoon,” he said cautiously. His voice carried a slight accent, just enough to show that English probably wasn’t his first language. “Excuse the intrusion. I’m looking for the Moldavia Los Angeles.”

“I’ve heard of the place,” Orozco said, nodding. “Luxury condos in the heart of greater Los Angeles, starting in the low 80Os.”

The other man drew back a little, probably wondering if the man with the military-issue rifle also had a radiation-scrambled brain.

“Uh…” he began.

“Long gone, of course,” Orozco continued, watching the man’s face closely. “However, if you’re interested in Moldering Lost Ashes, where the rooms are a lot cheaper, that’s a different story.”

The other’s forehead wrinkled even harder. Then, suddenly, it cleared.

“Oh, I see,” he said, visibly relaxing. “You’ve changed the name.” He frowned again.

“Moldering Lost Ashes?”

Orozco shrugged. A second and third man had now entered the field of fire, both also armed, both with their hands also visible and safely occupied with burro leads.

“It fits the place better than Moldavia Los Angeles,” he said. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Nguyen,” the man said, nodding back over his shoulder at the first of the two men who’d come up behind him. “This is Vuong, my second. We’re from Chuck Randall at Keeper’s Point.”

“Are you, now,” Orozco said, feeling his tension ease a bit. But only a bit. Nguyen had the names right, but there were a hundred ways he could have come by them. “How come Randall didn’t come himself?”

“He’s not traveling much these days,” Nguyen said grimly. “Lost his right leg below the knee two months ago. Something new Skynet’s started putting in the rivers.”

“A new model Terminator?”

Nguyen shrugged. “All we know is that it’s metal, travels in water, and has lots of big teeth. No one’s gotten a pedigree for it yet.”

“Not to be rude, but could we possibly take this inside?” Vuong put in, throwing a look northward past Nguyen’s shoulder.

“What’s your hurry?” Orozco asked.

“A mile or so back we spotted a group of nasties paralleling us a few blocks to the north,”

Nguyen said. “Eight to ten of them, all heavily armed. I don’t know if they spotted us, or if they’re even planning on turning in this direction, but we’d just as soon be out of sight before either of those things can happen.”

Orozco grimaced. More swaggering young men with guns who would need to be taught to stay away from his building. Just what he needed.

“We’re almost done,” he assured Vuong. “So if Randall really sent you, he must have told you who you’d be dealing with”

“Yes, after a fashion.” Nguyen’s lips tightened. “But then, he also told us to look for the Moldavia Los Angeles. Obviously, losing his leg hasn’t affected his sense of humor.”

“Apparently not,” Orozco said, a little more of the tension easing. Only someone who knew Randall would also know what sorts of things the man found funny. “So who did he send you here to see?”

“He just told us to ask for Auntie Em,” Nguyen said. He frowned. “I don’t suppose…that’s not you, is it?”

“Hardly,” Orozco said as the last remnant of tension faded quietly away. That had been his and Randall’s private joke, one the grizzled farmer had come up with the last time he was here. “Go ahead and bring your people and animals inside—we’ve got a room over to your right past the fountain where you can put them.”

“Thank you,” Nguyen said, making no effort to take Orozco up on his invitation. “But even a private joke has two sides.”

“In other words, how do you know I’m the one Randall said you could trust?” Orozco asked.

“Correct.” Nguyen inclined his head slightly. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Orozco assured him, his estimation of the man going up a notch. That kind of caution, that refusal to ever take anything for granted, was how you stayed alive these days. “Here’s Auntie Em.”

He hoisted his rifle to point at the ceiling, giving Nguyen a full profile view of the weapon.

“Nguyen, say hello to Auntie Em. Auntie M16, say hello to Mr. Nguyen.”

Nguyen gave a slightly twisted smile.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Em,” he said. “I take it, then, that you must be Ms. Em’s keeper and guardian, Mad Sergeant Justo Orozco?”

“Call me Huss,” Orozco said, beckoning to Kyle and Star. “This is Kyle and Star,” he added as the two kids rose from their concealment and started across the lobby. “They’ll help you get your burros inside and unloaded.”

“Ah…you may have slightly misunderstood our intentions,” Nguyen said carefully. “We’re not necessarily planning to sell all of our goods to you.”

“I understand that,” Orozco said. “But given the late hour, and given that the Ashes is the safest place around, I’d hoped you would accept our hospitality for the night.”

For a moment Nguyen studied Orozco’s face. Then, he again inclined his head.

“Thank you. We would be honored.”

“Good.”

Orozco turned to Kyle as he and Star came up beside him.

“Mr. Nguyen and his party will be our guests for the night,” he told the boy. “They and their animals will be in the Lower Conference Room. Take them there, and on your way tell Pierre I want him to stay at his post, but that the rest of his team can stand down and give you a hand getting our guests settled in.”

“Got it.” Kyle gestured to Nguyen. “This way.”

They boy headed off toward the conference room, walking sideways so that he could watch the traders’ progress as they picked their way across the lobby. He hadn’t stuck the Beretta into his belt, Orozco noticed, but still had it ready in his hand. Like Nguyen, like Orozco himself, the boy knew better than to take anything for granted.

Orozco waited until the last of Nguyen’s group was inside. Then, stepping beneath the archway, he signaled the man in the sniper’s nest across the street to come in. Once he was back in the building, Orozco would have him take over the post here at the entrance.

And then Orozco would have the unpleasant task of admitting to Wadleigh and the others that, yes, the party Kyle had spotted were just traders. The information would probably lead to more snide comments about Kyle’s paranoia, which thanks to the politics of life here, Orozco would have to endure in silence.

As Kyle had already noted, Wadleigh was an idiot. What was worse, he took things for granted, and this incident would simply reinforce the man’s mental laziness.

If there were any justice in the world, Orozco mused, Kyle would survive for a long time, while Wadleigh would suffer a quick and unpleasant death.

Baker appeared from the sniper’s nest and headed briskly across the street. Orozco gestured to him, then pointed to the floor beside the archway to indicate his new post. Then, cradling his M16

under his arm, he headed across the lobby to close down all the rest of the fire teams.

Including Wadleigh’s.

No, there was no justice left in the world. Not anymore. Justice had died on Judgment Day.