I LOVE YOU TOO
Okay... this is my attempt at a post-Born To Run, Season 3 fanfiction. I've been working a fair while on this, since I finished writing Century, pretty much. I'd also like to thank Kaotic2 for beta reading and for listening to me drone on and on about ideas for the fic. "I Love You Too" are the last words spoken in Born to Run, in case anyone's curious about the name of the story. Anyway, without further ado...
"I think you're gonna be famous... my brother's back and you're wearing his coat." John turned around, away from Derek, and saw a man only a few years older than himself. John's eyes widened at the sight of the newcomer: the eyes, nose, the shape of the face... his features were softer but they resembled Derek's, and his. Kyle. Kyle Reese. For the first time in his life, John gazed upon the face of his father.
John found himself utterly speechless. He'd never, ever thought he'd meet his father. All he knew were stories from his mother and the more recent ones from Derek. But this Derek didn't know who he was, and as John looked at his father he could tell neither did Kyle. Kyle looked at John with a hint of wary curiosity, intrigued but cautious. Movement behind Kyle caught John's attention and a slender figure walked out into view; long brown hair cascaded past her shoulders and waved as she moved.
Cameron. John felt his heart soar and he couldn't help but let out a small smile at the sight of her. I've found her! It took only a split second for John to realise something was wrong as Cameron knelt down and slowly stroked a German Shepherd, smoothing down its fur and scratching it behind one ear. The dog seemed to relish her affection and leaned into her. That's not right, John glared in confusion at them. Dogs hated machines; he'd known that since the cradle. The dog should be going wild at her, should be snapping and barking, not leaning into her and nuzzling against her thigh. And how had she healed so fast? Half of Cameron's face had been blasted away trying to rescue Sarah. There was no metal skull, no shredded skin or blood-soaked hair, no glowing machine eye. She's not Cameron. In his excitement at seeing her face he'd completely forgotten what had happened to her body.
John's smile faded before it had formed and his heart plummeted in despair. Who the hell was she, and where was Cameron? It doesn't go through. Weaver's calm words rang out in his mind and John's world fell apart. She's not Cameron.
"Who's this?" Kyle asked Derek, ignoring the kid between him and his brother. "Why's he wearing my coat?" He turned to John and looked him up and down. "You one of the tunnel rats?"
"I don't think so," Derek replied before John could. He turned John around to face him and stared evenly at the kid. He was clean, too clean. His face was shaven and without a speck of dirt or stubble. Barely a hair was out of place. Derek unconsciously ran his palm over his own stubbly jaw and thought back to his last shave three days ago, with a rusty razor that had cut his face and neck all over. His last shower had been a week ago and using cold water poured out of a rusting bucket they'd stabbed holes into, using the same water to shave with afterwards, collected into a drain and reused. They couldn't afford to waste a single drop of water. Derek opened up the jacket John was wearing to reveal his naked body. Derek didn't even blink at John's exposed modesty as he looked him up and down.
"No cuts, no bruises, no dirt, and I can't see your ribs." Derek tightened his grip on his plasma rifle, just in case. "Too well fed to be a tunnel rat; who the hell are you?"
John stared wide-eyed at his uncle as he clutched his weapon. He saw the Asian soldier doing the same off to his right and looked back behind him. Kyle had both hands on his plasma rifle, ready to shoot him at a moment's notice. "I told you. John Connor."
"No," the girl who wasn't Cameron snapped as she stood up and away from the dog. "Who. Are. You? Where'd you come from, what're you doing here?"
John stared at her in disbelief still. She even sounded just like Cameron – except she was clearly human, from the tone of her voice. He saw her eyeing him with suspicion and saw the same mistrust in her chocolate brown eyes – identical to Cameron's – as was in Derek's.
"I... I can't say," John replied pathetically. He couldn't tell them the truth, they'd never believe him. He didn't know what to tell them.
"Can't, or won't?" the girl asked suspiciously.
"Whatever," Derek interrupted. He stared John down as he buttoned up the jacket to cover himself once more. "We're moving on back to camp. Allison, take point with Cassie." The girl who wasn't Cameron nodded at Derek and pointed down the tunnel a second before she unslung an M4 carbine from her back and quickly marched forward. The dog walked past and kept a few feet in front of her.
"Listen to me, kid," Derek stared into John's eyes as he spoke flatly. "I've never seen you before and you might've just compromised us. You're coming with us and if you shout out or try to run I'll kill you in a heartbeat."
John nodded silently and didn't respond as Derek pulled out a scarf and tied it around his head, immersing John in total darkness. Derek then shoved him forward. "Move," he ordered.
John marched forward, a maelstrom storming in his mind as he tried to make sense of what was going on around him. Derek had called 'Cameron' Allison. She definitely wasn't Cameron, or at least not his Cameron. He thought back to when Cameron had glitched and lost her memory, ended up in a halfway house, calling herself Allison Young. Is she the same Allison? John thought it had to be. Cameron must have been based on her somehow. He wished he'd asked Cameron more about it at the time but he'd been far too focused on being pissed off with her to even think about discussing it. That was pretty much the story between them ever since his birthday, he noted with regret. How much trouble could he have saved himself if he'd just sat down with Cameron and his mom and talked about what had happened back then, instead of running off and trying to get away from it all? It hurt far more in the long run than it would have to face it head on, but John knew it was too late now. He'd learnt the hard way and it had cost him everything.
They marched through the vast series of tunnels in almost total silence, barring the plodding of their boots. A pair of rough, dry hands guided John with small shoves and prods. Blindfolded, John couldn't see the myriad random objects scattered about the ground, ranging from chunks of crumbling brick to dead rats and other rodents, to their fetid droppings left to decay out in the tunnel. John stepped over all of them and grimaced in disgust, unable to see to avoid them. He had to trust his captors not to let him fall down. He slipped on something that was wet and slimy but still crunched under his foot. He could only guess it was the remains of some kind of animal, and he'd just stepped on its entrails.
After a while John began to notice the ground under his feet was wet. It started out simply as a cold dampness on the concrete but before long he was ankle deep and every footstep created a splash that echoed loudly in his ears. He heard rats scurrying around and squeaking as they ran out of their way, disturbed by Derek's squad making their way through the tunnel.
John stepped on something sharp for the umpteenth time and wished they'd given him the chance to put on a pair of boots before they'd marched him out into the tunnels. Water dripped from the small orifices and the droplets echoed through the gloomy tunnels, along with the sounds of the footsteps as the group moved through the passage.
Eventually they stopped and the blindfold was pulled from John's face, opening up a dim, murky section of tunnel that opened up into what John guessed was the basement of another building. The place was a complete mess: scattered litter and rubbish lined the floor alongside chunks of broken concrete and small piles of plaster pushed up against the walls. Sarah had passed on Kyle's stories of the future to John: how people lived in tunnels and subways underground, were generally starving and scraped by on whatever they could find, but the harsh reality struck John like a cold slap in the face as he took in the basement before him.
The entire place was filthy, the walls were stained brown and the basement stank of sweat, decay and excrement. People sat propped up against the walls and tended to weapons and equipment. Two men and a woman sat on piles of rags on the floor and played cards. Another man warmed himself by a glowing fire that roared and crackled inside a rusting steel drum. John noted how subdued everyone was: there was no laughter, nobody smiled, they spoke in hushed conversation. Silence fell as they entered and the occupants nodded at Derek as they passed and stared at John with a mixture of curiosity and mistrust.
John counted perhaps a dozen people in the tunnels, in addition to Derek's squad; he figured they must be quite close-knit and didn't see strangers much. John passed a man and woman – filthy and wearing tattered, grimy jackets and trousers like everyone else – boiling a large pot full of something that looked and smelt like their dirty laundry. He saw them place some small cubes of red meat into the pot with a slight splash and noted with disgust that it was their food. John couldn't understand how people could live like this. He knew the future would be bad but actually being there now, experiencing it for himself, was something else entirely.
"Who's this?" a tall black man asked Derek as they entered.
"Don't know," Derek replied and looked across at John, who stood silently and watched. "We're gonna find out."
"Thomas' patrol's overdue," the black fighter announced. "They were meant to be back an hour ago."
Derek looked towards the soldier and glanced back at John grimly. "Take Evans and Peters and get up to the surface. Try to radio them but don't go outside. If they're not back by dark we'll send out a search party to look for them." Derek wasn't going to risk sending anyone out in broad daylight, not with HKs prowling the skies and Centaur tanks rolling through the ruins.
The soldier picked up a plasma rifle and left towards a side room. Derek dismissed the Asian fighter and Not-Cameron pulled something small out of one of her pockets, placed it into her German Shepherd's mouth and stroked the dog affectionately as it greedily swallowed whatever it was, earning her a grateful lick in return. Allison stared at John for a moment then led the dog away and out of sight. Derek led John through the basement complex, with Kyle behind, and into a smaller room with only a desk, two chairs, and a stack of paper in one corner. Derek motioned for John to sit down on one chair whilst he himself sat opposite. Kyle stood upright and kept his plasma rifle clutched in his hands, not exactly aimed at John but close enough for the gunner to blow a hole through him if he so much as sneezed.
John looked across the desk at the hard gaze of his uncle, still shocked that there was no recognition there. Derek truly had no idea who he was. Of course he wouldn't, John said to himself. This Derek doesn't know you. He's not your uncle anymore.
"Let's start simple," Derek spoke flatly. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"
"I told you before," John replied. "John Connor."
"You said that before, like I was supposed to know you," Derek raised an eyebrow. "You knew my name. How?"
John struggled to think of a sane-sounding explanation he could give, opened his mouth to say something but nothing came. "I can't say."
"You know me. You recognised Kyle," Derek tilted his head towards his younger brother, who stood there silent and motionless a few feet away to John's right. "And you stared right at Allison like you knew her."
"Allison," John murmured, so quiet it was barely a whisper. So she was the Allison Young Cameron had described. Who was she, in the future Cameron had come from? Why did Cameron look like her?
"You know us," Kyle repeated Derek's words. "How?"
John sat in silence again and looked down at the desk. He couldn't explain anything; they'd never believe him in a million years.
"Here's what I think," Derek rested his elbows on the desk and laced his fingers together as he stared at John with the same intensity he'd seen in his uncle so many times before. "You're working for Skynet."
"What?" John blurted out, his mouth agape and eyes wide in shock. His head swivelled on his shoulders as he looked for support from Kyle. His mother and his Derek had always said he was the gentler, kinder one, but he saw the detached, still curious look on Kyle's face and saw that no help was coming from his father. "No! I'm not working for Skynet, that's crazy," John couldn't help but laugh. After everything he'd been through in his life, after all Skynet's attempts to kill him... if only Derek knew the truth.
"You're too healthy. Too clean," Derek surmised. "Show me your hands."
"Just do it," Derek ordered. Nervously John raised his right hand from his lap and placed it palm down onto the old wooden desk. Derek clamped his hand down tightly on John's wrist and held his arm in place, pinning it to the wood. John jerked in his seat and tried to pull away, wondering what the hell was going on. "See those?" Derek asked Kyle, pointing to John's hand. John looked up at him in confusion. What the hell was he doing?
"Your hands give you away," Derek explained. He put his other hand down on the desk, next to John's. "No cuts, no broken nails, no white bits on the pink – they're not even dirty. If the fact you're clean and healthy wasn't enough to pin you, the hands are a dead giveaway." Derek held his own hand out and turned it over and back for John, revealing dirt, cuts, broken nails and a callous on the tip of each finger, signs of a lifetime of living in the rough, fighting tooth and nail for survival.
"I'm telling you," John growled. "I don't work for Skynet."
"Then who are you?" Kyle asked. "If you're not working for Skynet then what've you got to hide?"
"What happened here?" John asked, looking around the room.
"Judgment Day," Derek answered with a raised eyebrow. "What do you think happened?"
"I meant since then," John asked. "Who's running the war?"
"How about we get back to me answering the questions and you answering them?" Derek said harshly. "What can you tell me?"
"About what?" John asked. He knew what they were trying to do; they were convinced he was working for Skynet and if he said anything wrong it could incriminate him further. His shape and health had already worked against him and he couldn't think of anything to say to convince them that he wasn't their enemy. He thought his best chance for now was to play dumb, to stall them until he came up with something better to tell them.
"You're not stupid, kid, and neither am I." Derek slammed his fists against the table in anger. This kid was seriously getting on his nerves right now. "If you're not a Grey, then where the hell did you come from and what were you doing lurking around the tunnels?"
"I'm not a Grey," John insisted as Allison entered the room, her dog in tow. It was hard to look at her and not think of Cameron. He had so many questions he wanted to ask and no credible answers to give to theirs.
"That's what they all say," Allison stared at him with the same expression as Kyle as she stood behind John, making him feel even more uneasy than he already was. She leaned in over John's shoulder. "If you're a Grey you're better off telling us now. Trust me." She patted his shoulder as she pulled back upright, then yanked back on John's chair as hard as she could. John yelped in shock as he toppled backwards and reached out to grab something to hold onto, but there was nothing. He grunted as he fell to the ground and hit the back of his head on the cold concrete floor, sending a wave of pain tearing through his skull and starbursts exploding in front of him.
"Cassie: on guard!" Allison snapped. The dog leaned closer to John and glared at him, barking and snarling, murder in its eyes as its lips drew back to reveal large, yellowed fangs only inches from his face. The German Shepherd barked loudly and snapped her jaws, sending globules of reeking saliva flying into John's face. John managed somehow to notice that Cassie had no lead; the only thing keeping the dog from tearing his face off was Allison.
John got the message instantly; if he didn't tell them what they wanted, if he couldn't convince them that he wasn't working for Skynet, then the dog would tear him to pieces.
John sighed in resignation. What was the point? They'd already come to their own conclusion. No, he said to himself. He knew Derek very well: he'd killed Andy Goode, he'd killed Jesse, he would've killed Cameron twice over if he hadn't stopped him. If Derek had made his mind up that he was a Grey then John knew he'd be dead already. Derek was giving him a chance, and he had to give them something. "I was looking for someone."
"Who?" Kyle asked as he held out a hand and pulled John back to his feet. Allison propped the chair upright again and pushed him down onto it, then turned to the dog once more.
"Cassie: heel," Allison commanded, her voice softer this time. The dog stopped barking in an instant and sat still and alert, staring at John with watchful, wary eyes.
"A friend," John answered.
"This friend have a name?"
John couldn't help but look towards Allison. "Don't look at her," he snapped, turning John's head towards him and away from his companion. "I'm asking you, not Allison."
"Ca... Cameron." John saw her frowning at him as she caught his gaze. She'd spotted it the first time in the tunnel, he'd looked at her and then his face had fallen, as if he was expecting someone else. She kept quiet for now; Derek was in charge and she didn't want to interfere in his interrogation.
"I followed her here," John said glumly. Then a horrible thought came to him: what if they'd gotten to her, to John Henry? They'd have pegged John Henry as a machine instantly and blown him apart. "Did you see anyone else in the basement?" John asked, desperation creeping into his tone.
"Nobody else," Derek said. "Just you. Why, you got some buddies skulking around here, too?"
John just shook his head in resignation. He didn't know what it would take for him to prove to them he wasn't working for Skynet, if he even could. He needed to get out and look for John Henry, to get Cameron back, though Derek sure as hell wasn't going to let him stroll out and search.
The Asian soldier who'd found John entered the room and took everyone's attention off of John and towards him. "Reese, Mac just reported back: they found evidence of a firefight in Tunnel Twelve-C, but no sign of Thomas' patrol."
Derek looked at the man with a deeply furrowed brow, then eyed John with a frown as he thought about a hundred different possibilities, and then turned back to the soldier. "Tell Mac to keep searching, stay below ground. I'm on my way." The fighter nodded and left, and Derek turned back to John. "We find you in one of our bases – naked but for my brother's jacket-"
"You can keep it, by the way," Kyle added. John nodded his silent thanks to his not-father.
"Anyway," Derek rolled his eyes at the interruption. "We find you, naked, clean, and healthy – and the only people like that these days are the ones who work for Skynet, they get pretty well fed – and at the same time one of my teams goes missing. Doesn't sound like coincidence to me. You say you're not working for Skynet and I'm willing to give you a chance, but you'd better tell me what the hell you were doing skulking around out there or we'll be back to square one." He nodded towards Cassie, indicating neither he nor Allison would hesitate to have the dog rip him to shreds. Hell, their dogs were just as starving as the rest of them; if John really was a Grey then at least he'd give Cassie and her brothers and sisters a decent meal for once.
John stared at Derek, then looked to the dog beside him, up at Kyle, and then to Allison. It was impossible not to see Cameron in her; even the mole on her left eyebrow was the same. "I told you, I'm looking for my friend, Cameron."
"And what's Cameron doing here?" Kyle asked.
"I don't know. She's with someone else, he led her here."
Derek cocked his eyebrow in surprise; John hadn't mentioned someone else before. There was definitely something fishy about this kid but he didn't know what. Skynet normally recruited people who were... older, who had some kind of skill to offer. He didn't have time for this; he needed to find out what had happened to his squad, in case they needed help; if this little bastard was somehow involved in his men's disappearance then he'd personally hand feed him to Cassie and the other dogs.
"Lock him away," Derek told Kyle. "We'll deal with him later." Derek got up and left the room without another word and Kyle roughly pulled John out of the chair and to his feet.
"I'll deal with him," Kyle told Allison. "Get yourself some stew before it's all gone, and save some for me." Allison nodded, gave Kyle a small smile, which he returned, and then she led Cassie away. Kyle pushed John out of the room and down another dark, dingy corridor, barely illuminated by an old-style lantern hanging from the ceiling. At the end of the passageway was a thick wooden door. Kyle opened it and pushed John inside. It was dark and small, and John guessed it used to be some kind of utility closet. There was nothing in the room at all, only a few empty, lopsided shelves that had partially collapsed.
"We can't have you running around out here," Kyle said evenly to John as he stood in the doorway. "You're better off telling us the truth, whatever it is. Derek's harsh with traitors. I'll get you some water later on but we can't spare any food. Sorry." Kyle pushed the door closed and immersed John in total blackness. A lock clicked closed and then he heard Kyle's footsteps echoing away, leaving John alone in a dark and silent prison cell. John sat down on the cold ground and leaned against the wall, pulled his knees up to his chest and sunk his head down in defeat.
This wasn't at all what he'd imagined. He'd come for Cameron and now he realised he'd lost everything. She was gone – where, he had no idea, and it seemed doubtful he'd ever get out of the tunnels alive to search for her, so he'd probably never see her again. He'd left his mother behind, and she was probably dead by now. Even without Judgment Day, Cameron had said she was sick. He'd gone through time and now found himself surrounded by family who weren't family. This Derek wasn't his Derek, this Kyle wasn't his father, and Allison wasn't Cameron. They were strangers to him and he to them. Tears formed in his eyes and ran freely down his face; he couldn't help but drop his head beneath his knees and sob quietly in the blackness. In this dark, harsh world John Connor was completely, utterly alone.
Derek jogged down the dark, dank sewer tunnel, ignoring his loud footsteps and the splashes he made as his boots stamped down on the puddles of stagnant water that laced the cold concrete ground. Derek felt himself warming slightly as he ran, and was grateful of the slight body heat he generated as he moved. It would soon be night and when darkness came the cold outside got even worse; the temperature hovered slightly above zero at the best of times but winter was setting in, bringing colder, shorter days and long nights that could only be described as arctic conditions. A few winters ago it had even had snowed. And it wasn't much better below ground. The only upshot of that was that it meant they had more darkness to move around in. Small comforts, Derek thought.
He rounded a corner and saw Mac, Evans and Peters stood with their rifles cradled in their arms. In the dim tunnel Derek could just about make out scorch marks on the walls of the tunnels. Faint light shined down from an open manhole cover and barely illuminated the sewer tunnel into a lighter shade of grey. Within the hour it would start to get dark and the tunnel would be immersed in inky blackness.
"Reese!" The black soldier, Mac, shined a flashlight in Derek's face and waved him over. "Take a look at this."
Derek approached Mac and saw something on the ground he'd not noticed before: bodies. His heart sank at the sight of them laid still and inert on the ground. One of them was lying in a brown puddle of water, with its head at an unnatural angle. First that kid shows up in one of their camps and now this... he was involved.
"It's not our guys," Mac said reassuringly as Derek approached. Derek knelt down and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket, turned it on and aimed the light down on the corpse. It was a man in his fifties, skinny, dirty and wasting away, like most people. His thinning hair had flecks of silver in it and the man's skin was pale and cold to the touch. He'd been dead a while. His head lolled at an odd angle: his neck had been broken. Next to him laid an MP-5 submachine gun and several empty bullet cases scattered around the floor. Another body a few metres away was surrounded by similar 9mm cases but the weapon was gone.
"Recognise them?" Derek asked.
"This one, yeah," Mac pointed down at the other body, a tall, slender, African American in his late thirties, naked as the day he was born, his head also twisted at an odd angle. "That's Manny."
"Manny," Derek mumbled. Manny had lived separately from Derek and his group for several years but the two parties had gotten along well; they'd traded on several occasions in the past, and always traded fairly. Manny and his group lived a nomadic existence; they always stayed on the move and never stopped to rest in the same place two days in a row. Derek reckoned if he was in the tunnels he must have been on his way to trade something.
"Remember when he got us that whisky a few months back?" Evans added. "Drove a hard bargain, too; one bottle of Jack cost me my Sig."
"Your own fault, dumbass," Peters snapped. "Guns for booze: what kind of retarded trade was that?"
"Like a handgun's gonna do jack shit against Trip-8s, moron."
"Then what're you bitching about?" Mac snapped. "Manny was our friend: have some goddamn respect. What do you think, Reese?" Mac asked.
Derek pointed at the bullet cases and then at the scorch marks and bullet holes in the brickwork, then down at the snapped neck of Manny and his partner. "Machine," Derek said. But something still wasn't right. "I don't get it; tin cans have plasma rifles, why didn't it shoot them? Why did it break their necks instead?" He pointed down at Manny's corpse. "Why's he naked?"
"It's weird," Mac nodded in agreement as he looked down at Manny's body and ran his hands over the body, checking for anything useful. "Metal doesn't snap your neck if it can blow your head off. And metal's got no use for MP5s when they've got plasma rifles."
"Machine was unarmed," Derek concluded.
"Why?" Evans asked as he kept his plasma rifle trained down the tunnel. "Metal doesn't go anywhere without plasma rifles. Terminator, maybe, you think? Trying to blend in and infiltrate?"
Derek shined his light up to the open manhole cover then moved towards the rusting steel rungs that led up towards it. There were faint specks of blood on the ground at the bottom and on the rungs. "Terminator," Derek affirmed, pointing at the blood as Mac came to investigate.
"Either that or one of Manny's guys got away," Mac suggested. Derek shook his head doubtfully. Nobody escaped from the machines in such close quarters; if you didn't kill them they killed you. And anyone who might have made it up the ladder wouldn't have stopped to put the manhole back in place. Still, he had to be sure. Derek climbed up the ladder and poked his head out of the manhole. Bitter, freezing winds assaulted his face instantly and Derek raised a hand to shield his eyes from the biting air and scanned around him. The sky was darkening from a dull bloody red into a dark crimson which would turn twilight and then fade into blackness, and it would all happen in the space of the next hour or so. Anyone would have to be pretty desperate to escape a fire fight by going up top; even without machines scouring the surface the cold alone could kill a man within hours if he didn't find some kind of shelter.
He saw a few specks of blood on the ground outside. So someone had gotten out. Whether it was a man or machine wasn't clear but Derek would bet his right arm it was the latter.
"We're going back." Derek lowered his head under the manhole and manoeuvred the cover back into place, sealing the orifice and blocking the faint light from the surface. The tunnel felt noticeably warmed as he sealed it up and dropped down from the ladder onto the sewer floor. "Send out a search party after dark for Thomas' squad. We need to get everyone ready to move in case metal comes back." The machines had found their tunnel – perhaps not their camp itself, but that would happen soon enough.
Peters rummaged through Manny's clothes and the pack on his back. He picked out a few lumps wrapped in tin foil. He peeled one open and revealed dark, dried meat: probably dog, he thought. Smoked, cooked and dried out to last longer. There were half a dozen similar foil packages roughly the size of his fist. He looked through the rest of Manny's pack. "Got a load of dried meat, powdered milk, bottle of vodka, few boxes of 7.62s, hand grenades, couple of magnesium flares..."
Derek ignored the rest. The flares would come in handy against machines if need be. Manny had probably been on his way to trade when the machine had found them. It still didn't explain why it had killed them with its bare hands, or why it had taken Manny's gun. He picked up the MP-5, useless against machines as it was, and stuck it and the remaining ammunition in his pack, then slung it back over his shoulders.
"Shouldn't we move the camp now?" Mac asked. "Tin cans could be on their way there right this second."
"No," Derek shook his head and turned away from the scene. There was nothing they could do for the bodies; billions had gone unburied, two more wouldn't make any difference: more food for the tunnel rats, at least. Mac followed alongside him and Evans and Peters behind them. "Not yet," Derek continued. "Metal comes back through this way they'll find the tunnel rats before they find us. We stay where we are, stay quiet, we might get away with it." At the very least, he thought, the machines would open up on the tunnel rats, which would give them ample warning and time to rapidly vacate the area.
"That kid knows something," Derek mumbled to himself. First he arrives in their tunnel, too clean and well fed to be a tunnel rat or anything else but a turncoat for Skynet, and next a machine attacks Manny in the tunnels and escapes. None of it made sense but he knew beyond a doubt that kid John Connor was connected to what had happened here. He was going to find out how.