Terminator Salvation: The Official Movie Novelization by Alan Dean Foster Page B

destruction.
    “What happened here? To—everything.”
    “Judgment Day happened.” The teen was eyeing him curiously. “Are you just stupid, or...?”
    He didn’t finish, probably deciding that the “or” really wasn’t important when all that mattered anymore was surviving to the next day.
    Wright rubbed the back of his head, as if the thought itself was painful.
    “Gotta get out of here.” He muttered to the teen. “Away from this area.”
    The younger man’s shrug seemed to suggest that geographical designations like “away” no longer held much in the way of relevance.
    “Can’t go on foot, that’s for sure. Machines will cut you down. If you expect to get anywhere you’re gonna need speed.”
    Something, at last, that made sense.
    “I need a car.”
    “Good luck.” The teen squinted over at him.
    “You’re serious, aren’t you? Well, it’s your funeral. Moving car is just a bigger target.” He gestured ahead, toward the nearby hills. “Last time I was up that way I saw a few of ’em by Griffith Observatory that didn’t get incinerated. You can try. None of ’em run, though.”
    “Take me there.”
    Coming to a halt, the youth was ready with another acid response when the girl suddenly stopped as if shot and dropped to the ground.
    “Get down!” he yelled at the stranger. “And when you’re down, don’t move. Act dead—or you will be.”
    Wright complied. Lying motionless, he was starting to feel like a fool when a low rumble became audible. It rose quickly in volume if not pitch. Not daring to raise his head, he caught a glimpse in the broken windows of a nearby building of something in motion. It was enormous, purposeful, and now almost directly overhead.
    ***
    As the airship moved with lethal deliberation through the canyons of the ruined city, it scanned its surroundings with an assortment of sensitive instrumentation. Seeking sound or movement, it passed by the three inert figures splayed on the ground without reacting.
    Wright winced slightly as a nearby still-standing tower crumbled from the effects of the airship’s vibration.
    The three humans stayed motionless even after the giant machine’s last aural twitch had receded into the distance. Taking his cue from his younger but far more knowledgeable companions, Wright didn’t rise until they did. The teen explained before Wright could ask his question.
    “HK—Hunter-Killer. Can’t stop that with an improvised spring trap.” He nodded forward. “We should keep moving.”
    As they resumed their march Wright glanced toward the girl.
    “How’d she know? That it was coming.”
    The youngster looked uncertain.
    “Not sure. Just glad she does. Better than talking. She’s got a sixth sense or something about the machines. She’s kept me alive plenty.” He lengthened his stride. “We’re too exposed here. Pick it up.”
    Wright matched the teen’s pace effortlessly.
    “You know my name now. Who are you?”
    “What’s it matter?” The teen dodged around the scorched wreck of a city bus. “You had my gun. Why didn’t you shoot me?”
    “Why would I have done that? I don’t shoot people just because....” A memory came rushing back. A bad one. Wright’s voice trailed away without finishing the declaration.
    The teen frowned at him, appeared to hesitate, came to a decision.
    “My name’s Kyle Reese. Come on. Let’s go.”
    It had been dark outside for a while by the time the tech crew and their heavily armed escort arrived. Water dripped from the tarp-wrapped object they were carrying. When they finally laid it down on the place that had been cleared for it, the display table groaned under the weight. Beneath the tarp, extremities akin to limbs were thrashing uselessly. Connor was still careful not to get too close.
    Carefully pulling back the tarp, the tech chief revealed an intact Hydrobot. Superbly if inhumanly engineered to operate in the water, on dry land it struggled to carry out its programmed