16Chapter III ; June 16, 2022
John Connor hurried through the halls of their base, breaths coming out in quick, sharp pants. The resistance had struck the prison camp in Los Angeles after months, years of planning; everyone had been looking forward to it, security there from T-600s had grown light over the years as Skynet had to divert some of their numbers to the north. They estimated that there were maybe 3,000 men, women, and children in that camp and the notion of freeing that many had filled him and his troops with hope. But suddenly it had all came crushing down on them.
The resistance had been doing weekly flyovers to keep track of Skynet activity, but somehow they had gotten their numbers wrong and they had underestimated the fight that Skynet would give them. Barnes was already estimating that there were 100 of his best trained men and women dead, with several squads missing. And Barnes had to be the one to inform him that Kyle Reese was in the hospital, unconscious, and covered in burns.
John had forced himself to keep his distance from Kyle, but he had over the years lost that fight a few times. Several times John had talked to him more than he should, getting to know the man that was his father. As the years since they found Kyle passed, John started to see more and more of himself in the younger man's face. After so many years of wondering what his father would be like, look like, John wasn't disappointed.
Kyle was occasionally brave to the point of stupidity, more than once John had seen and heard Marcus berating him for it, but that bravery has earned him a reputation as a hero. He could see now why his mother had fallen in love with him so completely… a love that had lasted for the rest of her life.
He burst into the hospital, run and supervised with an iron fist by Kate. The beds were full of patients, most from the recent battle but a few weren't soldiers, a sick child, and an elderly woman in beds against the far wall. Kyle was being tended to by Kate and one of the nurses she had personally trained herself.
"Kate, how is he?" John asked his wife as he approached.
Kate sighed, face tired, an almost permanent crease in her forehead. "He'll live, but it's bad. Mostly second degree burns, but a few deeper ones on his back. What we have to worry about now is infection." Kate swallowed hard, eyes misty. "He will be in severe pain when he wakes up. And John the scars… I have nothing here to minimize his burn scars, probably nothing like that exists anymore."
John nodded, mind travelling back to one of his mother's tapes. Sarah Connor had made many over the years, but the earliest ones, when she was still pregnant with him, were mostly about Kyle. They didn't get to spend a lot of time together but everything Sarah could tell John about his father, she did. How he acted, what he told her about the future, how he made her feel, and what he looked like.
"I'd never seen scars like that before, like he'd been burned. But it wasn't only on the outside, there were scars on the inside too, like he had seen too much and done too much for one man to carry around inside him."
John nodded at his wife, pulling her into an embrace. "He'll live, Kate, he'll live."
She pulled away, hurriedly wiping at her eyes so that no one else would see how emotional she had become.
"What about the rest of his squad?" John asked.
"Perry carried him out, his squad and one other were too close to an explosion. The only member of Perry's squad to have checked in besides Kyle is Russel."
"Wright's missing?" John surmised.
Kate nodded. "Blair is worried, it's not like Marcus to not make it out of a fight."
John agreed with a slight shift of his head. "We're sending out search teams tomorrow, hopefully we'll find survivors."
When he came to, the first thing he noticed was overwhelming darkness that pressed down on him from all sides. There was a heavy weight on his back and he couldn't move, could barely think. Blindly he reached out with his hand, feeling metal and cold, hard earth, and then something wet, cold, and sticky. Drying blood.
He opened his mouth and took a breath, tasting dusty, smoky stale air. He tried to speak, yell for help, but nothing came out but a pitiful croak. Slowly it all started to come back to him. He was Marcus Wright, ex-convict and cyborg turned soldier. He could remember a mission and half-dead with starvation prisoners. Then a whistle through the air before everything went black.
Thinking more clearly, he started to carefully take stock of his injuries realizing for the first time that his bottom half from the waist down was numb, like his legs weren't even down there anymore. Groaning, he tried to move them, but got no reaction.
Marcus didn't understand everything about his body, didn't know how or why his human brain could work with his machine parts to make him walk and talk. Kate had given him a rundown on how she thought he worked, but even then it was only theories, after all, nothing else like him existed in the world. And so he could only surmise that the circuits from his brain to his legs had been damaged. Marcus had taken several hard lumps, banged himself up pretty good, but nothing like this.
He took a deep breath, trying not to panic. Who ever heard of a paralyzed cyborg anyway? Strangely he felt like laughing but swallowed the urge down, realizing that besides hysterical, he was racing towards delirious.
Suddenly the earth rumbled around him and then shook from within. He screamed as the beams, debris, and rock above him moved, shifting unexpectedly. Suddenly the feeling in his legs came back in a blaze of fire and pain, vaguely he could hear screaming from all around him, coming from him too in a crescendo. The pain from his newly rediscovered legs traveled up his back, following the path of his spine and reaching his neck. When it reached his brain he knew it, because, though he's never been hit by lightening he imagined it felt something like that. And then like a switch being flipped, Marcus fell back into unconsciousness.
John is there with Kate when Kyle begins to wake. They're too low on painkiller to give him enough to really make him comfortable, but Kate's administered just enough to take the edge off.
He's sitting next to Kyle's bed when his eyes open. They are dazed but they seem to focus on him, seem to understand where he is.
"Kyle, it's John Connor, do you remember what happened?"
John watches as Kyle tries to talk, throat too dry for speech. Kate steps forward with a little cup of cool water, and tips it against Kyle's cracked, dry lips. Some drips down his chin and neck but most manages to make its way down his throat. Kyle swallows and is finally able to speak.
"I—lost it," Kyle croaks, eyes pained. "It burned."
John's brows furrow in confusion. "What burned Kyle?"
"She—burned."
John's eyebrows flew up in alarm. "Who Kyle, who burned?"
"Sarah… the picture. It fell." Kyle's eyes were wet with tears and John realized that it wasn't because of the pain, which John realized must have been immense, but because of his mother's picture.
It had occurred to John that Kyle would have had to leave behind the picture of his mother when he travelled back into the past, but he had never thought about it being destroyed. That picture was always destined for Kyle but John suddenly felt its loss too, another piece of Sarah Connor gone from the world.
"That's alright, Kyle, don't worry about it."
Kyle shook his head, lips pressed together hard and turned his head away. John sat back in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable. Everyone had scars, in the world they lived in, they were inevitable, but to see Kyle like this, cut him deep.
After a minute or two, Kyle turned back to him, more composed. "The rest of the squad…."
"Perry and Russel have both checked in. Russel got hit with some shrapnel but he's fine."
Kyle's sweaty face turned worried. "Marcus didn't make it home?"
John shook his head. "I'm sending out search teams tomorrow. The Skynet rockets did a great deal of damage to what was left of the city, a lot of soldiers are probably trapped under the rubble."
A far away look appeared on Kyle's face as he remembered. "I… think I remember a rocket, everything's kind of hazy. There was a whistle and the building behind us was hit, I was just in front of Marcus, he pushed me out of the way. Perry and Russel were just in front of me. Silverio was behind Marcus."
John ran a hand over his face. Yet another reason why he owed his life to Marcus Wright, every time he saved Kyle, he saved John. When he asked Marcus to protect Kyle, he never knew the man would take it so seriously, or so to heart. He wanted to reassure Kyle that his friends would be fine, but he knew he couldn't promise that.
They sat for awhile, and John was just considering moving onto the next bed when Kyle spoke again. His face had taken on a passive, almost controlled quality that made John wonder what he was really thinking.
"The resistance always speaks of the mother of the resistance, but never of your father."
It was a statement and a question all in one, and the words Kyle spoke, unknowingly about himself, made John's breath catch in his throat. The picture had done its job; when John asked for a volunteer to go back and save his mother, Kyle would be the first to step forward.
For a minute, as he wondered how he was going to respond, he also thought about what Marcus had said a little less than a year before. The time when Kyle would have to go back was growing ever nearer, by John's estimation only two years, but he hadn't spoken to Marcus again about going back into time with Kyle. The idea of saving his father was as tempting as a pool of fresh water to a dying man in a desert. To have his father, for his mother to have a partner through the long, hard years. It remained unspoken between he and Marcus that nothing had changed, that when it came time for Marcus to go through time, he would. Hopefully, Marcus was still alive out there.
Finally he took a deep breath to reply. "He died, before the war." The answer was short and John hoped it would appease him.
Kyle nodded and leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. John patted Kyle's unburned shoulder and walked to the next bed, leaving Kyle alone with his pain and the thought of Sarah Connor.
Blair Williams liked to think of herself as a woman who, if she wanted something, she went out and did it. This sort of attitude had gotten herself in and out a lot of scrapes throughout the years, but right in that moment she wanted Marcus back. And so, even if Connor had given direct orders that no one was going to leave base before sunrise, Blair wasn't going to follow them. Marcus was out there… somewhere, and Blair couldn't stand one more moment without knowing where he was or if he was even still alive.
As she walked up to the hanger, she found it empty; the soldiers and civilians were all in their beds, but she knew Connor always had someone posted at the radios. The moment she started up the bird they would know. She always felt more comfortable in a fighter, but if she wanted to pick up survivors, a chopper would make more sense. Picking her favorite, she climbed in, put the helmet on, and adjusted the radio.
When she started up the chopper, the radio instantly crackled to life.
"Unknown pilot, state name and purpose."
"Jones, it's Williams, I'm going out."
She heard an exasperated snort on the other end. "Williams you know that Connor said no movement until sunrise."
"Yeah, I remember him saying that, doesn't mean I'm going to listen," Blair stated as she flipped the controls over to full power and prepared for lift off.
"He'll be pissed when he finds out," Jones warned.
"Tell him I'll be back; stay by the radio for updates, I may need the hospital team on full alert."
The man on the end sighed. "You got it Williams, good luck out there, be careful."
Blair felt a ghost of a smile on her lips. Jones had been a good pilot before he'd gotten shot in the hip by a T-600 a few years before, and Blair knew well enough that he would give anything to be up in a bird.
"You know it Jones. I'm going silent, Connor can frown at me when I get back."
"Over and out."
The radio went silent, and Blair turned it off on her end. She shifted in the chair, suddenly apprehensive, wishing that she had somebody, anybody with her, but she was alone, and that was the way it had to be. With a sigh and a prayer up to the heavens she took off, the rotor whipping up the wind around her. She turned immediately southward.
The night was quiet and still, her flight surprisingly easy; after Skynet's defeat earlier that day, they would lay quiet for only a couple of days before attacking again with a vengeance.
It took her only forty-five minutes to reach the ruins of LA in the MI-8 chopper. She knew by that point that Connor would already know of her departure, and was likely planning her punishment. Demotion? Probably.
Before leaving base she had gotten a detailed description from Perry on where they had been when the rockets had started going off, and she knew whereabouts Marcus should be. Fires still burned through much of the city after the battle and there was enough light for her to look down and see the area and for a good place to land.
Perry had told her that when the rocket went off they had been near what used to be the corner of South Figueroa and West Fifth Streets. Much of the street was covered in rubble, but half a block down, the street was clearer and wide enough for her to land without hitting the side of the closest building with the rotor.
Blair unstrapped herself and took off her helmet, laying it on the seat next to her. From the back she retrieved the cutting torch, rope, working flashlight, and her shotgun, hoping though that she wouldn't need it. She slung the gun and torch over her shoulder to free her hands and switched on the flashlight, scanning the surrounding area. There were a few destroyed T-800s that littered the ground but they lay silent. She checked each one, finding their chips had been already torn out by the soldiers that had passed through that area originally.
She walked a short ways until she reached the junction, though it was difficult to tell that it even was one with so much bomb debris. The rocket not only leveled the one building at the corner but also the one next to it, leaving behind a lot of steel and crumbly masonry. Blair knew from Perry that their squad had been closest to the second building, so logically she chose to start there first.
Setting down the rope, she clambered over the debris, flashlight held between her teeth. Now on the other side of the two buildings she turned to face what was left of the building. The debris pile was twice as tall as she was and covered the entire street.
"Fuck," she muttered, digging her old canvas gloves out of her pocket and slipping them on. She had expected something like this, insurmountable odds, but facing it was sending doubtful thoughts through her brain.
Getting down on her hands and knees she began to lift what she could, shoving aside hunks of concrete and gnarled rebar with all her strength. As she worked she called Marcus' name, pausing now and then to listen for a reply.
Marcus had been awake for about half-an-hour, and lying as still as he could, not wanting the beam on his back to move further. The first time he had woken up after the feeling in his legs had come back he found that even the slightest movement would make the pain return and the feelings in his legs to flicker in and out.
When Marcus heard his name, he was certain that he was dreaming. It sounded far away but it was distinctly Blair's voice. Relief ran through him.
"Blair!"
Silence followed for a moment and then he heard her voice again, growing closer. Dust drifted down from the ceiling of debris, only being held up by the beam across his back and several pieces of rebar. A few short seconds later a hole was made straight ahead of him and a light was shined down into his face.
"Marcus, thank God. Are you okay?" she asked.
"It depends on your definition of okay," he quipped back, watching as the beam of light moved from his face to the rest of his body.
He heard Blair's sharp inhale.
"Can you not move at all?"
"Some, the first time I woke up, I couldn't feel my legs; now they're kind of tingling," he answered.
She nodded. "Just hold on, I have to move carefully."
Marcus listened carefully as she moved the mess around and above him and began to realize that it was actually dark as pitch outside, and that there were no sounds besides her.
"Blair?"
Her face appeared again, sweaty and dirt covered. "What?" she replied.
"Did you come alone?"
She bit her lip, and Marcus knew then that she had. He wasn't sure whether to be angry that she had taken such a risk, or glad that she had. Marcus decided on glad and whispered a heartfelt "thank you." She gave him a small smile and began working again.
Before long she had uncovered most of him and she stood back to take stock of their situation. While Blair did that, Marcus was finally able to look around and realized that Blair had probably been there for a few hours at the most, and she hadn't just found him. There were two others laid out side by side. The one on the right had a splinted leg that Blair had put together from two pieces of wood and strips of rags. Both were unconscious.
Blair walked out of his line of sight but was back a minute later, the cutting torch in hand.
She kneeled beside him. "I'll never be able to move this thing. I'm going to cut off both ends."
Marcus nodded and watched as she flipped down the old welding helmet over her face. She ignited the torch and adjusted the oxygen valve until she had the right flame, and began cutting, moving slowly and carefully down the width of the beam. Before long she had one end done and moved over to the side, beginning the same process again. When both sides had been cut, she put her hands around the rest of the beam still on his back and taking a deep breath, lifted up and away, arms straining from the weight.
"Marcus?" she asked after she had set the steel aside with a metallic clang, leaning down close to him.
He groaned and rolled over onto his back, hissing as the rest of the feeling raced back down into his legs. "I think that one of the circuits or whatever is in there was being compressed. Felt great," he uttered sarcastically, carefully sitting upright.
Marcus rolled his neck, his metallic joints popping and grinding.
"Can you stand?" she asked, a crease buried deep in her forehead.
He nodded and stood, testing his legs carefully. "What happened to the rest?" he asked.
"Kyle, Perry, and Russel made it out. Russel had some shrapnel and Kyle has some nasty burns but both should make full recoveries. I haven't found Silverio yet; those two—" she pointed down at the men on the ground, "have concussions and the one has a severely broken leg."
Marcus looked closely at the soldiers on the ground. He knew of them, but didn't know their names since they were from either a different squad or company. "When is Connor coming back with a search team?"
"In the morning, which is probably about a couple of hours away," Blair answered, rubbing her dirty hands against her pant legs.
For the first time, Marcus really looked at Blair and realized that she was about to fall over with exhaustion. She was covered in scratches and had a large, blooming bruise across her cheek bone. He stepped close and ran his fingers gently across the darkened skin. "What happened?"
Blair sighed. "When I pulled the first one out, he hadn't passed out yet. He was delirious and scared."
At the look on his face she reached up and touched his cheek. "It's no big deal, he didn't know what he was doing."
He felt like arguing, because the idea of anybody laying a hand on her made him nearly blind with rage, but he was too mentally exhausted to do anything more than nod his head.
They looked back over what was left of the pile of rubble and both realized at the same moment that they couldn't go any further. Connor would be there soon and Marcus was certain that Blair couldn't possibly lift one more block without falling over (not that she would want to hear that). Touching her shoulder, Marcus turned her gently to face him. "Come on babe, I think it's time to head home."
She nodded tiredly, hair heavy with dust and sweat.
Bending down carefully, thinking about the ghostly sort of pain his legs, Marcus lifted the two unconscious soldiers over his shoulders and straightened. "Where are we parked?" he asked.
"On the other side of these buildings," Blair answered, gesturing down the street.
They cut through the alleyway and Marcus found the chopper easily enough. He laid the two men in the back and climbed up after them, turning to help Blair up. "Can you fly?" he inquired gently.
She gave him a look and he bit back a smile. "Alright, never mind I asked; of course you can fly."
"Damn right I can fly," she stated, climbing into the cock pit and strapping herself back in. "The last time I let you fly, you nearly crashed."
"That was a freak occurrence and you know it," he quipped back, following her and climbing into the passenger side.
She was grinning by this point, teeth seeming very white against the dirtiness of her face. Even though she had lost friends that day, she was beyond thankful that he was alive. "Aha, keep telling yourself that Marcus." She glanced behind her shoulder. "Are they secure?"
He grunted. "The one is."
"Marcus," she began sternly.
"Yeah, yeah, they both are, keep your underwear on."
Blair smirked, starting up the chopper as the sky just began to lighten in the east. "Wright, I think I'm beginning to like this obsession with my panties."
"Don't I know it Babe, believe me."