Alan Foster - Terminator Salvation

Occasionally he thought he caught glimpses of movement among the stones, succulents, and cacti. Rats, mice, rabbits, ever-opportunistic coyotes and cats gone feral. He smiled to himself. Small mammals had survived the age of dinosaurs by fleeing to burrows. Perhaps humankind would survive the age of machines the same way. Something dark and winged soaring overhead drew his gaze upward.

He was not at all surprised that among the surviving species of birds, buzzards seemed to be doing particularly well.

If the 7-Eleven that hove into view was a mirage, it was a pleasingly solid one. Though for all that was left of it, it might as well have been vapor. Torn and battered, its windows and front broken out, with its filling island twisted as if by a tornado, it appeared to have been ravaged as much by the weather and human refugees as by Skynet.

Bent and rusted as they were, the presence of the gas pumps prompted him to glance down at the jeep’s dash. He was not surprised to see that the fuel gauge indicator was flirting with a large letter E. Determination would still get him to San Francisco—but another tankful of fuel would sure be a big help.

At the moment, he was not ashamed to admit that he needed the expertise of someone much younger than himself who knew about their present surroundings. Reaching over, he elbowed the sleeping teen awake. Reese muttered something unintelligible, but when his eyes opened, they opened fast. He was instantly awake, his awareness ignited like the flame on a gas stove.

Slowing further as he drew closer to the station turnoff, Wright indicated the silent structure.

“Looks dead. What do you think?”

Leaning out the side of the jeep, Reese squinted at the building. Excitement replacing exhaustion, he pointed to a symbol that had been spray painted on one wall. More than anything, it resembled a crude double helix.

“Hey...that’s it.” The youth pointed. “That’s the insignia of the Resistance. It means this place has recently been visited by its soldiers and found to be clean. Looks deserted, too. It should be all right to get out here—at least for as long as it takes to pick up what we can. Pull over.” Reaching into the back seat, he nudged the jeep’s smallest passenger.

“Star, wake up! We’ve found a store.”

Sitting up, the girl rubbed at her eyes, and looked at Reese as if to say, What kind of store?

Settling back down in the front passenger seat, the teen studied the ruins absorbedly, dividing his attention between the relic and the now alert and attentive little girl in back.

“It’s kind of a mess, but it looks like a mini-mart.” At this her eyes widened hopefully. He had to smile at her reaction.

“Don’t get too excited,” he told her. “You know what these places are like inside. We went through plenty of ’em back in L.A.” He eyed the gaping, windowless front speculatively. “Maybe we’ll be lucky this time, maybe not.” He turned back to the older man. “Come on. You drive like a grandmother.”

His initial reaction after they parked the jeep and finally got inside was “not.” Star’s expression showed how her heart sank as she joined the two men in inspecting the rows of broken, crumpled shelves. The minimart’s interior had been ravaged and scavenged with a thoroughness fit to satisfy the most scrupulous barbarian. The store had been cleaned out. There wasn’t a paper clip to be had, much less anything edible. A long-silent freezer contained a single empty carton of milk.

Wright wondered why whoever had drained the contents had chosen to place the empty container back in the silent freezer. A choice made out of reason, respect, or madness?

Following close on his heels, Reese suddenly froze. Star wasn’t the only one whose senses had been sharpened by years spent surviving in the shell of the Southern California megalopolis.

“Someone’s here.”

He had barely uttered the exclamation when half a dozen figures suddenly materialized from different corners of the store.

Wright froze in his turn. They had guns. Not that this would stop him if he felt compelled to defend himself, but while the scruffy shapes wielding the weapons were clearly on edge, their trigger fingers were relaxed. Had their anxiety exceeded their curiosity, they would have fired without bothering to emerge from hiding. That they hadn’t done so indicated that their preference was to talk—at least initially.

Of course they would , he told himself. In this world all human life was precious, because it meant one more individual alive to rage against the machine.

That didn’t mean every survivor welcomed every other one with open arms. Survival still trumped friendship. Confirming this belief, the man Wright took to be the leader of the group kept his shotgun trained on the intruders.

At the first appearance of weapons Reese had stepped in front of Star to shield her. He too had singled out the same man as the group leader.

“We saw your sign,” the teen ventured by way of a hello.

“The old lady put up the sign. Not me. We can’t help you.” The shotgun’s muzzle gestured toward the pump island outside where Wright had parked the jeep. “Wherever you’re headed, you need to keep on going.”

Stepping forward, an elderly woman regarded the trio of arrivals a moment before finally nodding and turning to the much younger man holding the weapon.

“Ease off, Len. They’re okay.” Her shoulder-length hair had turned white as marble.

Licking his lips uncertainly, the shotgun wielder gestured with the end of the weapon again, this time singling out Reese and Star.

“These two might be. Ain’t seen a machine yet that tried to imitate a kid.” Cagey and alert, his eyes flicked back to the silently staring Wright. “But what about him?”

“We don’t want to cause trouble.” Wright kept his tone even and unthreatening. “We just need fuel.”

The man laughed bitterly. “Don’t we all. How about some steak and ice cream while we’re wishing?” His gaze narrowed. “The dark season is coming. We only have enough for ourselves.”

Wright stared back at him calmly. “Why? You planning on taking a long vacation some time soon?”

Tensing, the other man took a step toward Wright, only to be stopped by the exasperated elder.

“Len, put the gun down. You really think I’m going to let you send these children away starving?”

He looked at her sharply. “Virginia, we’re running out of food.”

Spreading his hands, Reese pleaded their case.

“We’re not asking for much. Maybe one meal and some gas for our jeep, then we’ll leave. We don’t want to stay. We’re trying to reach the Resistance.”

For the second time since they had entered the store, Len let out a burst of sharp, acrid laughter.

“The Resistance ? What a joke! There is no ‘Resistance’. There’s only talk and wishful thinking. You can’t fight the machines. All anyone with any sense can do is try to stay out of their way.” He gestured at their teetering surroundings. “Why do you think this place is still standing?”

“Because the machines haven’t gotten around to it yet,” Wright opined quietly.

Len glared at him. “No! It’s because we don’t make trouble. We don’t shout our presence. We keep our heads down and they ignore us.”

“You keep your head down,” Reese told him. “They’ll come for you eventually. I’ve seen this before. They don’t ignore you. They don’t ignore anybody. What they do is set priorities. Pick their targets according to the possible threat they might pose, starting with any they consider potentially dangerous to them. Once those’ve been wiped out they start working their way down their list. No one escapes notice. No one gets left alive. They want us all dead.” In spite of Reese’s youth, it was easy to see which of the two men was the more mature.