Los Angeles
July 10, 2029
Nightfall
In the hills overlooking the ruins of West Hollywood, there is a bowl-shaped depression in the land, an amphitheater. The forgotten venue is lined with concrete stairs, which lie cracked and worn before the broken dome of a decades-ruined stage. A few gray acoustic spheres are still affixed above the stage, with others scattered at its base. Trash blows in the wind, plastic and styrofoam and leaves scattering over the desiccated ruin and revealing a damaged poster, laminated and still readable. A searchlight scans the ground, revealing its faded words: “The Damnation of Faust: By Hector Berlioz. Performed by Kent Nagano. August 21, 1997”. Below this, in italics: “The Day of Judgment”.
The searchlight passes over the poster and its light plays amid the shadows of the half-fallen dome. The source of the light is a large tank, its upper section swiveling like a torso, two massive guns slung on its sides like arms. The tank continues unhurried up the canyon, scanning the scrub and groundcover on either side of its programmed patrol.
In a natural hollow just above the ruined amphitheater, the glint of a polished lens is just visible in the dim night. Its owner, a middle-aged woman with a mass of brown hair tied in a bun, is lying on her stomach, the binoculars to her eyes. One of the lenses is broken, and she looks out of the other at the retreating tank. A low voice mutters behind her.
“I’ve gotta eat something, Cass. I’m starved. Want anything?”
The source of the voice is a young woman with a dark face and short black hair cropped almost military-style. She is gaunt, almost skeletal, and one of her arms is twisted and small, a sign of childhood malnutrition. She digs in a pouch with this hand, retrieving two shriveled bits of dried meat. She rips into one of them with her teeth, offering the other to the older woman. She doesn’t look away from the valley.
“More coyote?”
The young woman chews thoughtfully a moment, and the older woman reaches back and takes the piece of meat, bringing it to her mouth. Suddenly the young woman swallows and speaks.
“I think it’s dog.”
The old woman examines the meat, a sad frown creasing her face. “Poor Pronto.” She hands the meat back to the young woman, who looks at it then back at the older woman.
“Cass, you need to eat.”
The older woman returns to her vigil. “They’re getting bolder. They never came up this far before.”
The young woman peers over the lip of the depression at the tank. “There’s more of them too. Maybe Connor’s army has failed…and the machines are back in full production.”
The old woman takes the jerky from her companion, setting down her binoculars to look the young woman in the eye. “John Connor knows what he’s doing, Em. He saved us from hell back then. He saved you.” The old woman puts a hand on the young woman’s withered wrist. “I will never forget what he did for us.”
A grimace crosses the young woman’s face. “His words, you mean. You’ve never met the man in your life.”
The old woman smiles faintly. On her forearm a faint series of marks is visible, a tattoo in the form of a barcode. “You may not remember what it was like back then…but I do. Besides, you don’t need to meet someone for them to save you.”
The young woman looks back at the valley, eyebrow raised. “This position is too exposed. C’mon, let’s report back.”
The older woman turns and makes as if to follow, but then grips her companion’s shoulder. “Em, wait. Something’s happening down there.” She raises the binoculars to her eyes again.
Far down in the bowl of the amphitheater, there are sparks and bolts of lightning. The wind picks up, throwing debris around in a miniature maelstrom, and with a burst of light, a brilliant white sphere appears in the side of the broken dome above the stage as if it were a part of the acoustic accoutrement, slicing through one of the steel supports. It hangs there for an instant then disappears, and a small humanoid form falls several meters onto the stage with a crash, breaking through the rotted floor onto the ground.
The women stare openmouthed at the spectacle, then glance at each other in disbelief, turning back to the stage and scanning the scene. The steel support of the dome, now compromised, collapses with a rending crash.
The tank turns on its metal torso, guns and searchlight snapping onto the broken stage.
The binoculars are out and the older woman whispers frantically to her friend. “Em, there’s a kid down there. I can see him under the stage. We need to help him.”
The young woman stares wildly down at the scene. “I don’t know what this is, but it doesn’t concern us, Cass. We should fall back.”
The tank opens fire, plasma detonating all over the structure. More of the steel dome begins to sag and fall onto the stage.
The woman glares at her companion. “Go tell the others. I’m going to help him.” She shoves the binoculars into her friend’s hands and leaps down the slope and is gone. In the depression, her friend swears softly to herself. “Dammit Cass.” She glances back one last time and then makes her way back up the canyon, away from the amphitheater.
Cassie races down to the amphitheater, noting the oncoming tank and swerving to avoid its line of sight as she goes into range. She slides under the partially collapsed stage and pulls out a dyno torch, squeezing the handle several times to provide juice for the light. She whispers in the semi-dark.
“Hey! Is there anyone alive down here?” She scans the darkness, shadows leaping in the swinging light. Another explosion sounds above, shaking the structure and sending debris falling.
“I’m here.” The answer is quiet, matter-of-fact. She swings the light and it strikes the dusty, grimy face of a boy, his mid-length blonde hair partially obscuring his face. He is crouching in a corner, seemingly unwilling to move.
Cassie scans him with her flashlight, noting his complete nakedness. She pulls her cloak off of her and holds it in her hand.
She points at the ceiling with her light. “What was…that?”
The boy looks at her with interest. “You saw that?”
Cassie nods, tossing him the coat, which he throws over his naked body. “What the hell happened? Who are you?”
There’s another explosion above them. The boy looks around as more debris fall. “My name is Charlie Fritz. I’m with Tech-Com under John Connor. I need to know the exact date.”
Cassie looks at him with awe. “You’re with John Connor?”
“The date.”
Cassie shakes herself. “It’s July 10th. Why?”
The boy looks around hectically. “What time?”
“Just after nightfall.”
The boy nods to himself. “Then it may not be too late.” Another explosion wracks the structure and the stage behind the boy collapses. He moves away from the falling beams and the two of them make their way to an opening where they can get a look at their attacker.
“Too late for what?”
“To save the world.”
Cassie takes this in levelly, then glances out at the approaching tank. It has been joined by another tank approaching from the entrance to the canyon. The boy takes in their positions, then turns to Cassie. “I need to get to get to the Skynet facility complex in Los Angeles by dawn.” He makes to move out, but Cassie pulls him back by his cloak.
“Wait a minute. You can’t just go out there alone. Tell me what the hell is happening. Let me help.”
The boy considers, glancing again at the tanks. He makes a choice.
“Very well, but we must split up. I’ll draw their fire, and once I do you retreat the way you came. Make your way to downtown Los Angeles. John Connor will arrive at 4:15. Find him.” He casts his eyes downward, then they flick back to her. “Do this, and we will meet again. I promise.”
The boy makes to leave cover again, but Casey hisses at him. “That’s it? What’s the mission? If I find Connor, what then?”
Charlie considers for a moment, then as another explosion rocks the building and it collapses further in on itself, he speaks.
“You should kill him…”
Cassie stares, thunderstruck, unable even to speak. The boy’s young face is gaunt, his eyes, haunted.
"…for his hatred shall destroy us all.”
Charlie moves away, Cassie still standing shellshocked. The boy races out across the open ground, moving faster than Cassie would have given him credit for. He dodges a plasma bolt by the first tank and slides around a rock, which explodes behind him with a blast from the second tank.
Cassie takes off in the opposite direction as the entire stage sags and collapses completely in on itself in a grinding and rending of metal. Suddenly she hears the whine of another vehicle, and a chrome-plated aircraft flies out from behind the hill, peppering the area with purple lances of light. She turns around and shouts a warning but it is too late. Charlie is caught in the blast of a powerful bolt of plasma and he is entirely enveloped by the explosion, bits of him flying in all directions.
Cassie screams, turning and running from the remains of the splattered soldier. The aerial vehicle turns and begins firing at her from across the canyon, the explosion of its guns throwing her a dozen feet in the air and against the far canyon wall where she loses consciousness amid the burning vegetation and the approaching chrome-plated death.
