Fic - The Butterfly Effect 4/9
Title: The Butterfly Effect (4/9)
Rating: Hard R: violence, sex, harsh language, you probably know the drill by now.
~ ~ ~
The Butterfly Effect 4/9
~ ~ ~
“Sarah…”
“I see it. Shit.”
The SUV, three cars behind and gaining fast, had waited until the traffic had lessened and night had completely fallen before making its move. Derek’s cellphone was already ringing and Sarah heard his half of the terse conversation.
“I don’t know… No, not when you left the café… Only one that I can see… No, no grenades… Did you think we’d fucking need them?!... Fine, we’re right behind you.” He snapped his phone shut. “Fucking metal,” he spat as he double-checked the clip in his gun and peered over his shoulder. “Third exit. It leads to the warehouse district. We’re gonna try to draw them off the freeway.”
“Right.” Sarah could feel her sweat slick on the steering wheel as she gripped it. Their last car chase hadn’t ended well. “It knows we’re with them. It’s picked up the both of us.”
“Yeah. Off at the next one.” He clung onto his seat as she suddenly swerved across a lane. The car that she cut up blared its horn at her and she licked her dry lips.
“I got it.”
Cameron had already taken the exit ramp. Sarah glanced in her mirror to see the SUV accelerating hard and maneuvering itself into her blind spot. As she decelerated, trying to make the exit, it slammed into them violently enough to shatter her side window and shower her with shards of glass. Somehow she kept the Jeep steady, but the SUV had recovered first and it was already speeding away from them in pursuit of John.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” Without pausing to offer Derek any further reassurance, she pounded her foot hard on the gas and tore after the SUV. The sparsely-lit road leading to the industrial area was too much of a contrast to the bright lights of the freeway and she narrowed her eyes as her vision struggled to adjust.
“Dead ahead.” He gestured with his Glock. “You see him?”
The SUV had extinguished its lights but a plume of dust kicked up as it rounded a corner. She sped towards it. On a flat, straight run the Jeep was powerful enough to close the gap, and Derek leaned out of the window to fire three shots towards their target.
“Need to find out where John is. We have to keep the bastards occupied,” Sarah yelled over more gunfire and the wind that was whipping in through her window.
“Yeah, kinda got my hands full, Sarah.” He abandoned his Glock, switched it for his shotgun and blew the back window of the SUV out.
“Oh shit.” She struggled to control the Jeep as the SUV skidded to a stop, spun and headed straight for them. “Get down!”
Dragging the steering wheel hard to the left, she pulled out of the SUV’s path as it hurtled past and a semi-automatic sprayed bullets randomly towards them. The rear window exploded into fragments, three warning lights lit up the control panel, and her cellphone began to ring.
“John?” She managed to hit the right code, snarling in frustration as she fought with the suddenly-recalcitrant steering. “Shit, I think we lost a tire. John?”
“Hey mom.” He sounded a hell of a lot calmer than she did.
“Hey. Dammit! On your right!” The SUV was attempting to make another pass. She winced at the crack of the shotgun, and then spun the Jeep into a cluttered alley. “John, where are you?” Cardboard boxes, bags of trash and filthy water flew up at either side as she careened towards a light in the distance that seemed to mark the start of a road.
“Clear. We lost them, got back on the freeway. I’m guessing you found them. You okay?”
She gave a strangled laugh, relief making her breath hitch in her throat. “We’re okay. Don’t go straight back home.”
“I know, we’re heading in the wrong direction anyway, and we need to ditch the truck. They must’ve hooked into the street cameras. We gotta warn Michael, mom.”
“Get the hell out, John. Hole up and sit tight.” She didn’t have time to wait for his response.
The SUV was right behind them and it hit the Jeep’s bumper hard, sparks flying as it pushed them along the alley wall. She dropped the phone and pulled the wheel straight again, trying to keep the Jeep steady while Derek clambered into the back seat. Without hesitation, he fired twice at close range, aiming for the driver’s side, ducking down to avoid the answering gunfire but not before he saw a splash of crimson hit the SUV’s windshield. As Sarah accelerated and whipped the Jeep onto the road, the SUV continued straight over the junction and smashed head-first into the front wall of a lock-up shop.
Panting heavily, she slowed the Jeep to a juddering stop and waited for Derek to climb back into his seat. Flames were beginning to lick at the engine of the SUV but there was no indication that anyone inside had noticed. She looked at Derek, who nodded and opened his door. By the time they reached the wreckage, the fire had taken hold, casting a mellow orange glow over the carnage in the front of the vehicle. Half of the driver’s head had been blasted away by the shotgun. The impact of the crash had thrown his passenger backwards whilst simultaneously pinning his legs in place beneath the dashboard. Death had probably been instantaneous but the man’s face was frozen in a rictus of agony.
“Jesus.” Sarah bent double, her hands on her knees as she swallowed against a sudden surge of nausea.
A distant wail of sirens suggested that the district wasn’t quite as deserted as they had hoped. Derek gripped her arm. “We need to move.”
She was still taking deep breaths as she straightened, but she followed him when he set off running back to the Jeep.
“Just put some distance between us,” he said as she started the engine. “We’ll have to dump this somewhere.”
They limped along with one flat tire and an engine that was beginning to throw out an alarming amount of smoke.
“Call John,” she said. “We need Michael’s address.”
“Sarah.” His tone held a warning. “We’re gonna be too late.”
“I know.” She shook her head, her teeth biting down on her lip. She couldn’t look at him. “But we have to try.”
~ ~ ~
No signal.
Try again.
Dyson’s fingers slammed on the keyboard as he fed the message through to Cain, but the machine showed no indication it was affected by the heightened state of his emotions, and its response was unwavering:
No signal.
“Shit.”
Despite utilizing the CCTV feed, they had lost sight of the Connors and the SUV in pursuit of them as soon as the vehicles had left the freeway. The fact that Cain was now unable to raise either of the Kaliba operatives on any of their comms did not bode well for the outcome of the mission.
Patrol units are responding to reports of shots fired in the vicinity.
A screen to the top left of the monitor array was transcribing the police radio transmissions, but it wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know.
What about our second target?
En route and closing.
Dyson nodded. At least something was proceeding according to plan. An incoming alert began to sound shrilly, flashing insistently on one of Cain’s larger screens, and Cain reacted with alacrity to accept it. Standing with his arms folded, Dyson watched as the screen flickered briefly before fine-tuning the connection to present a razor-sharp image of Kristina. Even at this late hour her appearance was pristine, and her face betrayed nothing.
“We lost the Connors,” she stated, without preamble. Kristina never had been one for conventional courtesies. It was something that had irritated him at first before he had learned not to take offense.
“It’s possible. Comms are down, but we’re still waiting for confirmation.”
She arched an eyebrow but made no further comment. They both knew that confirmation would be a formality.
“Not really why I called, Danny.”
“No?” His surprise wasn’t feigned.
“No. Cain linked me into tonight’s footage. I’m sending you a file. Read it and then let me know when you’ve heard from our second team.” She smiled condescendingly at the puzzled expression on his face. He knew there must be a reason she looked so very pleased with herself, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.
“Read the file, Danny,” she said, a faint sing-song quality to her tone. “Tonight might not be a total loss after all…”
~ ~ ~
“Hey.” Perching on the side of the bed, Michael gripped Zach’s hand and felt some of the day’s stress gradually begin to ease.
Zach smiled at him, still half-asleep. “I was worried about you. Where you been?”
“Nowhere.” Michael kissed his cheek lightly. “Go back to sleep. You had a long shift.” He tried to look Zach in the eye, but couldn’t.
“You went, didn’t you?” Zach said slowly. He rolled onto his back. “You met that guy. Fuck, Mike, I thought we’d agreed to stay out of it.”
“And I thought we’d agreed that Beth and Max deserved more than being left as a fucking footnote in an unsolved casefile.” Michael lowered his voice when he saw Zach flinch. They had all been friends. He opened his hands in apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He shook his head; he was doing this all wrong. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You should’ve told me you were going.” Catching hold of one of his hands, Zach held it tightly. “I’d have gone with you, you idiot.”
“You would?” Michael let out a relieved breath.
“Yeah, course I would. Better than you going on your own. So, what happened?”
“You’ll never…” Suddenly remembering his promise, Michael stood up from the bed. “Shit, look, I’ll tell you everything and I’ll tell you the weirdest part of it as well, but I need to send a text first.” He was already at the bedroom door. “You make some coffee and meet me out back. I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”
“You sending this guy the coordinates?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, I just need to grab my diary. I promise I’ll explain everything. Two minutes. Coffee.”
Zach laughed. “Fine, I’ll bring your cloak and dagger out with it.” He threw a pillow at Michael’s head and swore softly as it thudded into the door. He could still hear Michael laughing as he began to get dressed.
It was hotter on their back porch than it was in the house. Michael swiped away the sweat that had instantly beaded on his brow. The light on the porch flickered and dimmed, the faulty wire Zach had been promising to fix for weeks now finally losing its connection. Reaching up, Michael gave the bulb an optimistic twist. It did nothing to improve the lighting, but the piece of paper with John’s phone number on slipped from his fingers and fluttered down into a patch of overlong grass. He took the two wooden steps in one stride and dropped onto his knees, running his hand blindly through the undergrowth until it brushed against the slip of paper. He was about to stand up again when he heard the first thud.
“Zach?” The noise hadn’t come from their bedroom. He pushed himself to his feet, crumpling the piece of paper into his pocket as a second, louder crash sounded from the front door. “Oh fuck. Zach?!”
Footsteps, heavy and fast, sounded down the hallway, and he stood frozen in place until he heard Zach cry out. Then he was moving without thinking, throwing open the screen door, any thought of stealth abandoned in favor of speed. His hand closed around a broom handle and he grabbed it up, wielding it like an overlong baseball bat as he pushed the kitchen door open. The instant he stepped into the opening there was a deafening crack, a flash of bright light, and a punch to his shoulder that threw him against the wall and stole his breath away. Everything seemed to slow down just for a second. He saw the gleam of a man’s smile in the dark and smelled wintergreen gum as the man took a step closer. He felt something warm and wet begin to trickle down his back and he heard Zach’s voice, thick with pain, repeating one phrase over and over: “Run, Mike.”
“No.” His right arm wouldn’t move when he tried to lift the broom, but he lashed out with the wood regardless. It caught the grinning man on the side of his head, which wiped the smile from his face and started him cursing. He saw the man’s hand rising, saw the glint of black metal. Michael launched himself back into the kitchen, crashing through the screen door and down the porch steps, landing heavily on all fours as two shots, fast and frantic, flew over his head. Pulling himself to his feet, he ran for the left side of the yard where a couple of unloved bushes gave him good cover and a broken fence panel allowed him to push through and onto the street. Tears streaming down his face, his legs weak and threatening to fold beneath him, he stumbled towards the derelict row of shops at the end of the block. For now, they were as good a place to hide as he was going to find.
The smell of vomit and cheap alcohol rose up from the floor when he slid down the wall of the third shop on the row. It had taken barely any effort to prize away the wood holding the rear door closed, but he felt breathless and his hands shook uncontrollably when he pulled his cellphone and his diary out. There were four anonymous missed calls registering on the screen. He didn’t remember hearing any of them. John’s number was still in his pocket but the writing seemed blurred and it took him three attempts to make the call.
“Michael?” John answered after the first ring. “Where are you? Are you at home?”
“No, not at home. They came.” His voice broke. “They came.” And they’d be listening, they’d already found them once. “21-07-42. The coordinates. 21-07-42.”
“Fuck the coordinates,” John said desperately. “Look, my mom is on her way to you. She’s close but we need to know where to find you.”
“Third along,” he whispered.
“Third along what? Michael, third along what?”
Michael pressed End.
~ ~ ~
From their vantage point at the end of the street, Sarah and Derek watched the police hurry back and forth between their squad cars, their superior officers, and the small house whose front door hung from one hinge. An ambulance was parked haphazardly, red lights still flashing, but the paramedics stood by with their arms folded and their bags unopened.
“We can’t stay here.” Without waiting for her response, Derek eased their stolen truck away from its parking spot and headed down the next street.
“No,” she said distractedly, her attention focused on scanning the sidewalks.
“No what?”
“No, we’re not leaving.” She turned to look at him, no doubt at all in her eyes. He looked away first.
“We already have the coordinates, Sarah. The kid’s probably dead.” It came out harsher than he had intended, but the police were patrolling the neighborhood, and two fugitives driving around in a hotwired truck felt like an open invitation for trouble.
“He wasn’t fucking dead a half-hour ago. Try the next block.”
“Sarah…” A light went red at the intersection and he stopped the truck, his foot heavy on the brake. “This is fucking stupid. We need to get back to John.”
Even in the dim light, he could see her teeth working on her bottom lip. He knew that had been a low blow, but she was already shaking her head, unwilling to give any ground.
“John was the one who sent us,” she said, and there was no mistaking the challenge in her tone. “I thought you wanted this John to be different.”
He couldn’t help but smile a little at that. Apparently they were both pretty good at hitting below the belt.
“Okay, fine. Fuck.” The light had been on green for several seconds now and he pulled away from the intersection as a car behind him blared its horn. “So, where now?”
She was staring at a largely derelict row of what might once have been shops. “Third along.”
“What?”
“Pull in round the back of these.” She pointed hurriedly and he abruptly switched lanes to make the turn into the alley. Her door was opening before he had even unfastened his seatbelt. He ran around the truck to keep up with her as she jogged towards the end of the block. “Here, grab the flashlight.”
The door she stopped by swung loose where it had been forced open. Gun outstretched, she pushed it gently.
“Jesus,” he whispered, his hand coming up to his nose. “I thought the tunnels stank.”
She ignored him, breathing shallowly and trying to forge a path through the debris.
“Michael?”
Something suddenly darted across the floor in front of them and they both jumped, guns aiming in the direction it had fled in.
“Dammit!” She relaxed her stance.
“Rat?”
“Yeah.” Wiping sweat away from her face with her shirt sleeve, she gestured towards the next room. “C’mon.”
As soon as they stepped across the threshold, they knew they were in the right place. The smell of blood hung sweet and sickly in the air, several rats scurried away, abandoning their attempts to approach the source of it, and in the far corner a small form huddled in a ball and gasped for breath.
“Michael?” He twitched slightly when Derek played the flashlight across his face but there was nothing purposeful about the movement, and he didn’t answer them. “Here.” Derek handed the flashlight to Sarah and crouched at the boy’s side. Ignoring Michael’s weak groan, he ran his hands over Michael’s torso and limbs in an effort to find the source of the bleeding. “Right shoulder.” His hands were coated in fresh blood. “Through and through.”
Sarah was already stripping her shirt off. She handed it to Derek and kept Michael still as he bound the wound. When the cloth pulled tight around his shoulder, Michael’s eyes opened and his legs kicked ineffectually in the dirt as he tried to push away.
“It’s okay, Michael. It’s okay. John sent us.” She put her hand on his good arm, watching as his eyes flicked to her face and then Derek’s. He licked his lips, his brow furrowing with confusion, before the terror etched across his features was slowly replaced by relief.
“Sarah Connor.” His voice was cracked and breathy, but his words were unmistakable and he smiled softly.
“What the fuck?” She tensed, her hand leaving his arm and grappling for her gun. “How do you know my name?”
“We believe you,” he said simply. His eyes were beginning to roll back, and when he spoke again they had to strain to hear him. “We’re getting ready.”
~ ~ ~
TBC…
~ ~ ~