Skynet apparently hadn’t seen any need for reinforcements down there. The Terminator was still standing its silent guard, right where Jik had left it.
And then, as Jik hesitated, wondering if this was really the best plan he could come up with, the distant sounds from the ford changed as a new weapon joined in the battle.
Only this one wasn’t any single-shot hunting rifle. It was the terrifying, lethal stutter of a T-600 minigun.
And Jik no longer had a choice. If the Terminators were bringing that kind of firepower to bear, the people standing against them had literally only minutes left to live. Their only chance was for Jik to give the machines a better, more important target.
The secret of man’s being, the old quote ran through his mind, is not only to live but to have something to live for.
Gripping his Smith & Wesson in both hands, he stepped into the T-700’s view.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Over here!”
The machine turned its glowing red eyes toward him.
“Yes, here,” Jik called. “Here I am. Take a good look.”
He raised his gun.
“And get terminated.”
Aiming between the machine’s eyes, he squeezed the trigger.
* * *
They had just passed through the town, which as far as Barnes could tell consisted entirely of a bunch of ramshackle houses and a couple of larger buildings, when the sound of gunfire erupted from somewhere dead ahead.
Their leader, Hope’s father, was off in an instant, breaking into a sprint with his rifle held high in front of him. Grunting, swearing under his breath, Barnes followed. His legs were already feeling leaden from all the weight he was carrying, and the soft, draggy ground beneath him wasn’t making things any easier. But he’d told Preston he could keep up and he was damned if he would fall behind now.
Three minutes later, they burst through one final barrier of low-hanging branches onto the scene of battle.
Barnes had seen Terminators picking their way through city rubble, striding across empty fields, even climbing up the outsides of shattered walls. But up to now he’d never seen one standing shin-deep in the middle of a narrow river, plumes of whitewater churning around its legs, trying to push forward against the current and the relentless impact of heavy rifle rounds.
Heavy, but not heavy enough. The T-700’s approach was being slowed by the gunfire, but it wasn’t taking much damage. There were some dents in its torso and skull, and its gun arm had been dislocated at the shoulder, but that was about it.
Well, Barnes could do something about that. Braking to a halt, he slid his right foot behind him for stability and dropped the muzzle of his minigun into firing position. Lining up the weapon on the Terminator’s torso, he squeezed the trigger.
The gun thundered to life, pouring out its stream of destruction. Barnes leaned into the recoil, fighting to keep the hail of lead centered on its target.
He probably wasn’t as accurate with the minigun as an actual T-600 would have been. But at this range he was accurate enough. The T-700 staggered back, its arms and legs snapping free of its torso and flying into the churning water, the torso itself denting and then shredding and finally disintegrating under the assault.
And as the machine collapsed into a heap in the roiling water Barnes let up on the trigger.
“Anyone else?” he challenged.
He hadn’t expected a response. He got one anyway. On the far side of the river, thirty meters to the north, a pair of bushes were shoved violently apart to reveal a second T-700. It strode to the riverbank and then turned to its right and started downstream toward the ford.
“Look out—there’s another one!” someone shouted.
Barnes glanced down at the minigun’s ammo belt. There were only about thirty rounds remaining, about half a second at full auto. Best to save those until the machine was closer. He dropped into a crouch and lowered the big gun to the ground.
And as he did so, a burst of
And then, as Jik hesitated, wondering if this was really the best plan he could come up with, the distant sounds from the ford changed as a new weapon joined in the battle.
Only this one wasn’t any single-shot hunting rifle. It was the terrifying, lethal stutter of a T-600 minigun.
And Jik no longer had a choice. If the Terminators were bringing that kind of firepower to bear, the people standing against them had literally only minutes left to live. Their only chance was for Jik to give the machines a better, more important target.
The secret of man’s being, the old quote ran through his mind, is not only to live but to have something to live for.
Gripping his Smith & Wesson in both hands, he stepped into the T-700’s view.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Over here!”
The machine turned its glowing red eyes toward him.
“Yes, here,” Jik called. “Here I am. Take a good look.”
He raised his gun.
“And get terminated.”
Aiming between the machine’s eyes, he squeezed the trigger.
* * *
They had just passed through the town, which as far as Barnes could tell consisted entirely of a bunch of ramshackle houses and a couple of larger buildings, when the sound of gunfire erupted from somewhere dead ahead.
Their leader, Hope’s father, was off in an instant, breaking into a sprint with his rifle held high in front of him. Grunting, swearing under his breath, Barnes followed. His legs were already feeling leaden from all the weight he was carrying, and the soft, draggy ground beneath him wasn’t making things any easier. But he’d told Preston he could keep up and he was damned if he would fall behind now.
Three minutes later, they burst through one final barrier of low-hanging branches onto the scene of battle.
Barnes had seen Terminators picking their way through city rubble, striding across empty fields, even climbing up the outsides of shattered walls. But up to now he’d never seen one standing shin-deep in the middle of a narrow river, plumes of whitewater churning around its legs, trying to push forward against the current and the relentless impact of heavy rifle rounds.
Heavy, but not heavy enough. The T-700’s approach was being slowed by the gunfire, but it wasn’t taking much damage. There were some dents in its torso and skull, and its gun arm had been dislocated at the shoulder, but that was about it.
Well, Barnes could do something about that. Braking to a halt, he slid his right foot behind him for stability and dropped the muzzle of his minigun into firing position. Lining up the weapon on the Terminator’s torso, he squeezed the trigger.
The gun thundered to life, pouring out its stream of destruction. Barnes leaned into the recoil, fighting to keep the hail of lead centered on its target.
He probably wasn’t as accurate with the minigun as an actual T-600 would have been. But at this range he was accurate enough. The T-700 staggered back, its arms and legs snapping free of its torso and flying into the churning water, the torso itself denting and then shredding and finally disintegrating under the assault.
And as the machine collapsed into a heap in the roiling water Barnes let up on the trigger.
“Anyone else?” he challenged.
He hadn’t expected a response. He got one anyway. On the far side of the river, thirty meters to the north, a pair of bushes were shoved violently apart to reveal a second T-700. It strode to the riverbank and then turned to its right and started downstream toward the ford.
“Look out—there’s another one!” someone shouted.
Barnes glanced down at the minigun’s ammo belt. There were only about thirty rounds remaining, about half a second at full auto. Best to save those until the machine was closer. He dropped into a crouch and lowered the big gun to the ground.
And as he did so, a burst of
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