FIC: Childhood (2/?)
More oba love!
Kyle let out a loud, “oomph,” when the dog jumped on him and a near giddy, “hey,” went it started licking his face. He pulled away from the excited animal before the bandages on his head began to peal off.
“She likes you. That’s good,” the doctor noted, looking up from the pile of mismatched supplies he was sorting through. “Guess you aren’t a machine.”
“Huh?” Confused, Kyle turned away from petting the dog.
“Dogs can detect the mini-HKs. Something about their smell,” the doctor replied. “Connor thinks they’ll be even more valuable later, but he hasn’t said why.”
“Connor?”
“Look, kiddo. If you’re well enough to ask questions, you might as well make yourself useful. Get over here and help me sort this shit out.”
Kyle nodded and pushed the dog off his lap. He got up slowly and had to grit his teeth against the sharp spell of pain and nausea. If the doctor said he was well enough to work, then he was well enough to work. Even if he wasn’t, at least the task had the potential to keep his mind off of … well, the events that happened at the camp.
He bent down into a crouch next to the doctor, testing the strain on his sore legs.
“All right,” the doctor told him. “I want the gauze in that bin, needles there, tape there, these pill packs here, and all the medical tools here.” He was pointing to each individual bin systematically. “Nice enough for those boys to bring this stuff down here, but you’d think they could have sorted it first.”
Kyle began to throw each of the items in its respective bin. The pile of supplies wasn’t large - he estimated it would only take a few minutes to work though it - and very clearly wasn’t nearly enough to help all the wounded that had passed through this ward since Kyle had woken up.
“Who’s Connor?” he asked as he started organizing.
“You mean you don’t know? He’s the guy whose team bought you in. The grandpuba himself.”
“John?”
“Well, I guess you’re on a first name basis with the guy,” the doctor said, looking up momentarily from the pile. Contemplating, he turned his attention back to a needle in his hand. The protective plastic seal was torn, but not completely broken. He tossed it in the bin. “Got quite the personality on him. I haven’t seen one man be able to gather up this many survivors in one place before. And, trust me, I’ve seen it since the beginning.”
“The resistance?” Kyle prompted. “He’s the leader?” He couldn’t have kept the awe out of his voice. “Wait. John Connor. He’s the John Connor?”
“How’s your head, son? Everything’s still working up there, right?” Despite the humor in the doctor’s voice, his face hinted at his concern.
“Yeah,” Kyle said, slightly embarrassed. “I just … John Connor. I didn’t expect him to be here. I mean, in the same place I am. Didn’t think I’d ever meet him, either.”
“Well, he took a shining to you,” the doctor replied. “Came in and checked up on you. Never seen him do anything quite like that before.”
Kyle paused, dumbfound. John Connor finding him of interest? That didn’t seem possible. He was nothing more than a war orphan, who, up until a day or so ago, had been scheduled for termination. There must have been hundreds of boys just like him.
“Damn it, dog, get down from there,” the doctor hissed, breaking into Kyle’s thoughts.
Kyle glanced up to see the German shepherd attempting to make a bed out of the rags he had been lying in previously.
“Is he yours, sir?” Kyle asked. He didn’t have much experience with dogs, his family never having one itself, but he remembered seeing them rummaging through the garbage in the days before the Seekers had found them and put he and his family in the camp. His father had told him that they were once pets to some people - ‘man’s best friend,’ he’d said. Kyle had longed to touch one, to feel the fur, which looked so much softer than most things in this dismal world, with the palm of his hand. They were wild, however, and his father warned against getting too close.
“Nah, and she’s a she,” the doctor answered. “Connor’s, actually. She’s set to have some pups soon, and Connor thinks that I’ll know what to do about it.”
The dog watched the exchange in listless boredom, unconcerned despite the growing malevolence in the doctor’s stare.
“Speaking of what to do about things,” the doctor continued, looking back at Kyle. “What are we going to do about you? You know, I could always use an extra man around here. Keep ya out of the front lines.”
Kyle was barely able to keep the scowl off of his face. A medic? No way. “I wanna fight.”
“So you keep saying.” The doctor sighed. “Well, in that case, I’m sure one of the sergeants will come down and get you. I’ll put in the word.”
“No need, doc, already set up.”
John Connor had appeared miraculously next to the med ward’s makeshift threshold. Kyle blanched for a moment, hoping that the great man hadn’t overheard Kyle’s earlier confusion about his identity. The stern face gave no indication either way.
He was dressed smartly in a gray uniform - his last name tailored across the front like a badge of honor. It was dirty, as was the man wearing it, but John Connor still managed to look like a hero.
The dog, in the meantime, had gotten up and made her way to her owner, licking John’s fingers with a sweet affection. John patted her head fondly, letting the dog relish the touch.
“Please tell me you’ve come to take the bitch back,” the doctor said. “She keeps picking through all the damaged supplies.”
“Take better care, then,” John told him. His tone was not sharp, but it was laced with authority, nonetheless. “Here for the boy, actually. He ready?”
“He’s patched up,” the doctor answered noncommittally.
Connor frowned sourly at the doctor and turned his attention back to Kyle. “Are you feeling up to getting out of here, kid?”
“Yes, sir!” To prove his point, Kyle jumped to his feet as quickly as he could muster, ignoring his body’s protests. He left is handful of supplies on the floor, hoping that, since Connor was the boss, the doctor wouldn’t complain. Connor made a motion with his hand and the two walked out of the ward side by side.
Curiosity getting the best of him, Kyle couldn’t help but take in his new surroundings. When they had first brought him in, he was far too ill to look around as his stretcher had passed through these narrow hallways.
Now, as he saw them, he was relieved that he hadn’t ventured a peek before; they were disgusting - the walls smeared with stretches of dark brown, the floor caked with something more than mud. Crying and bitter shouts filtered through the walls from other parts of the building. The air reeked of misery as if it were a physical substance but, thankfully, of little else. It did not hold the smell of burnt flesh as the camp did.
“Sir?” he asked hesitantly. “Where are we?”
“The Beverly Center,” Conner stated, as if it would make perfect sense to Kyle, who merely furrowed his brows in confusion. Seeing the look, Connor sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. “An old business, where people used to come and buy supplies. It was huge back before the war, and had multiple levels. They collapsed on top of each other and created these tunnels. Anyway, we’re in West Hollywood.”
“Oh, okay,” Kyle said, although the last statement made no more sense than the first. He probably shouldn’t have bothered to ask the question.
“Are you from L. A.?”
“I don’t think so, sir.” It was hard to know where the once great city of Los Angeles began and ended anymore - it was nothing but a pile of rubble for miles around now. Kyle’s father had once told him that the city expanse went out as far as the ocean or nearly so, but Kyle had yet to see the sea.
“Where, then?” Connor asked, surprisingly adamant.
“Um, my father once said something about Yucaipa, sir,” he answered as best he could. He wasn’t from there, really - he had been born on the run - but that’s where his parents had come from. He thought the name sound funny, and so it was all the easier to recall.
“Yucaipa?” Connor paused for a moment and studied Kyle, the emotion playing across his face unreadable.
“Yessir.” Kyle bit his lip, attempting to understand Connor’s reaction. “We were headed east, though. On foot, towards ‘the boarder.’” Kyle had no idea what ‘the boarder’ was actually the boarder of, but the way his father spoke of it in such reverent tones, he could have guessed it was a place of salvation.
Instead of prompting him or shedding light on his father’s words, Connor merely nodded. “But the Seekers found you?”
“We stopped; too close to one of their bases, I guess.”
“Why?”
“My sister was being born, sir,” Kyle replied softly. Little Abigail Reese had lived a whole of four days. His vision became hazy and he felt the tears pickling at his eyes. He blinked, and willed them away.
Connor’s jaw twitched noticeably, but he said nothing, offered no sympathy. “Come on.”
They turned along the jagged hallway in a seemingly mindless course. As they went, the crowds of gathered survivors became sparser, and the voices became fainter.
“These are my quarters,” Connor announced, pulling back a tattered curtain. Kyle peered past him to look at the place where the legendary hero slept.
It wasn’t much. A bare twin mattress lying in the corner served as a bed, and a stack of HK drumchaises had been welded together into the form of a workbench. Various small weapons and parts were sprawled over it, with some of the larger pieces drooping onto the floor.
Connor stepped over to the bench, checking some papers under the soft glow of a 10-watt lamp. Kyle moved into the room, careful not to get too far, lest Connor didn’t want him nosing around his personal possessions. Dark shadows covered what looked to be a more interesting corner, where piles of paper were haphazardly collected.
A glint of metal caught Kyle’s eye when the movement of John’s body suddenly redirected the bulb’s light unto the far wall. There was a small pipe, possibility the arm of an old T-40, tacked up loosely with fasteners. Several small objects decorated the makeshift mantel, and Kyle found himself unconsciously edging closer to it to get a better view.
Trinkets. A little plastic man holding an equally plastic blue wand. Hard bone-like pieces curled around themselves in perfect spirals. A row of perfectly rounded metal disks, no bigger than Kyle’s index and middle fingers pressed together that either held a near bald man’s head or a large bird with its wings folded out.
Pictures. A dog much like the one resting in the med ward. A girl, nay woman, with auburn hair, high cheekbones, and gray eyes. A boy with oddly cut, long, black hair and soft, blue eyes. The last was another woman, blond, with a rough bandana lopped around her forehead. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail.
Kyle took another step so that he could make out the expression on the woman’s face. It wasn’t the generic, fake smile that the other two bore. She seemed almost … well, sad. Stuck in deep contemplation. Kyle knitted his eyebrows together, studying her. She was so beautiful.
“Reese,” Connor boomed, causing Kyle’s heart to jump into his throat. He turned, figuring he had been caught in the act of staring, but, thankfully, Connor’s eyes were still glued to his paper. “Do you know how to read?”
“What?” Kyle blinked in unguarded confusion. Connor looked up at him, eyebrow raised. Kyle’s mind remained at a standstill, trapped between embarrassment and bewilderment. “I mean, sir, well …” He paused, thinking. What constituted an ability to read? “A little.”
Connor nodded, throwing down his papers with out a second thought.
“You’ll need to read better than ‘a little.’ He walked over to the pile of papers and fished through it, Kyle’s nervous eyes following his every movement. “There used to be a store here that sold nothing but books. A few of them survived.” His hand rummaged around, knocking a few things away as he looked. “Aha, this ought to do the trick.”
He pulled out a worn and ratty volume and handed it to Kyle, who glanced at it skeptically.
“In your free time, read it,” Connor ordered. “When you feel ready, I want you to read it back out load to me. Keep an eye on it; people will burn anything. In the meantime,” - he gestured with his hand, urging him out towards the hallways again - “I want you training.”
They passed back through the complex, turning in another direction Kyle didn’t remember seeing before. This time, they paused before a large, nearly cavernous room filled with metal scraps arranged in every shape imaginable. Most made it look like the ruins outside, but a few things - the row of parallel bars held some six feet off the ground, for example - made it look somewhat otherworldly.
“You can practice here,” Connor said. “Eventually we’ll work up to some combat and evade and maneuvering techniques. But first, I want you working out on those monkey bars.” He pointed to the bars Kyle had noted earlier. “You should be able to swing from one to the next without stopping. You need to be able to lift yourself up using just your arms, too. Got that?”
Kyle nodded, trying not to look as nervous as he felt.
“Sometimes soldiers will be here. Watch what they do and try to imitate it. Maybe they’ll even offer to show you a few moves. You should take them up on it if they do.” Connor paused and wrapped his arms around his chest, staring back at Kyle.
“This is what you want, right, kid?” He glaze was intense, almost asking - begging, daring? - Kyle to step down and refuse. The sadness that was present in the woman’s photograph was nearly mirrored in his face.
“More than anything, sir.” Kyle favored him with a rare smile.
“All right, get to it, then.” At that, Connor dropped his head down and left, leaving Kyle alone in the chamber.
Kyle’s eyes darted to the ‘monkey bars’ and then momentarily to the book.
“If you give a mouse a cookie,” he read aloud. What a strange title. Why would anyone want to give a mouse anything? Maybe a cookie was something that made them easier to catch or taste better, or even got rid of some of their diseases. Shaking his head, he placed the book gently on the ground and turned back to the bars.
Kyle let out a loud, “oomph,” when the dog jumped on him and a near giddy, “hey,” went it started licking his face. He pulled away from the excited animal before the bandages on his head began to peal off.
“She likes you. That’s good,” the doctor noted, looking up from the pile of mismatched supplies he was sorting through. “Guess you aren’t a machine.”
“Huh?” Confused, Kyle turned away from petting the dog.
“Dogs can detect the mini-HKs. Something about their smell,” the doctor replied. “Connor thinks they’ll be even more valuable later, but he hasn’t said why.”
“Connor?”
“Look, kiddo. If you’re well enough to ask questions, you might as well make yourself useful. Get over here and help me sort this shit out.”
Kyle nodded and pushed the dog off his lap. He got up slowly and had to grit his teeth against the sharp spell of pain and nausea. If the doctor said he was well enough to work, then he was well enough to work. Even if he wasn’t, at least the task had the potential to keep his mind off of … well, the events that happened at the camp.
He bent down into a crouch next to the doctor, testing the strain on his sore legs.
“All right,” the doctor told him. “I want the gauze in that bin, needles there, tape there, these pill packs here, and all the medical tools here.” He was pointing to each individual bin systematically. “Nice enough for those boys to bring this stuff down here, but you’d think they could have sorted it first.”
Kyle began to throw each of the items in its respective bin. The pile of supplies wasn’t large - he estimated it would only take a few minutes to work though it - and very clearly wasn’t nearly enough to help all the wounded that had passed through this ward since Kyle had woken up.
“Who’s Connor?” he asked as he started organizing.
“You mean you don’t know? He’s the guy whose team bought you in. The grandpuba himself.”
“John?”
“Well, I guess you’re on a first name basis with the guy,” the doctor said, looking up momentarily from the pile. Contemplating, he turned his attention back to a needle in his hand. The protective plastic seal was torn, but not completely broken. He tossed it in the bin. “Got quite the personality on him. I haven’t seen one man be able to gather up this many survivors in one place before. And, trust me, I’ve seen it since the beginning.”
“The resistance?” Kyle prompted. “He’s the leader?” He couldn’t have kept the awe out of his voice. “Wait. John Connor. He’s the John Connor?”
“How’s your head, son? Everything’s still working up there, right?” Despite the humor in the doctor’s voice, his face hinted at his concern.
“Yeah,” Kyle said, slightly embarrassed. “I just … John Connor. I didn’t expect him to be here. I mean, in the same place I am. Didn’t think I’d ever meet him, either.”
“Well, he took a shining to you,” the doctor replied. “Came in and checked up on you. Never seen him do anything quite like that before.”
Kyle paused, dumbfound. John Connor finding him of interest? That didn’t seem possible. He was nothing more than a war orphan, who, up until a day or so ago, had been scheduled for termination. There must have been hundreds of boys just like him.
“Damn it, dog, get down from there,” the doctor hissed, breaking into Kyle’s thoughts.
Kyle glanced up to see the German shepherd attempting to make a bed out of the rags he had been lying in previously.
“Is he yours, sir?” Kyle asked. He didn’t have much experience with dogs, his family never having one itself, but he remembered seeing them rummaging through the garbage in the days before the Seekers had found them and put he and his family in the camp. His father had told him that they were once pets to some people - ‘man’s best friend,’ he’d said. Kyle had longed to touch one, to feel the fur, which looked so much softer than most things in this dismal world, with the palm of his hand. They were wild, however, and his father warned against getting too close.
“Nah, and she’s a she,” the doctor answered. “Connor’s, actually. She’s set to have some pups soon, and Connor thinks that I’ll know what to do about it.”
The dog watched the exchange in listless boredom, unconcerned despite the growing malevolence in the doctor’s stare.
“Speaking of what to do about things,” the doctor continued, looking back at Kyle. “What are we going to do about you? You know, I could always use an extra man around here. Keep ya out of the front lines.”
Kyle was barely able to keep the scowl off of his face. A medic? No way. “I wanna fight.”
“So you keep saying.” The doctor sighed. “Well, in that case, I’m sure one of the sergeants will come down and get you. I’ll put in the word.”
“No need, doc, already set up.”
John Connor had appeared miraculously next to the med ward’s makeshift threshold. Kyle blanched for a moment, hoping that the great man hadn’t overheard Kyle’s earlier confusion about his identity. The stern face gave no indication either way.
He was dressed smartly in a gray uniform - his last name tailored across the front like a badge of honor. It was dirty, as was the man wearing it, but John Connor still managed to look like a hero.
The dog, in the meantime, had gotten up and made her way to her owner, licking John’s fingers with a sweet affection. John patted her head fondly, letting the dog relish the touch.
“Please tell me you’ve come to take the bitch back,” the doctor said. “She keeps picking through all the damaged supplies.”
“Take better care, then,” John told him. His tone was not sharp, but it was laced with authority, nonetheless. “Here for the boy, actually. He ready?”
“He’s patched up,” the doctor answered noncommittally.
Connor frowned sourly at the doctor and turned his attention back to Kyle. “Are you feeling up to getting out of here, kid?”
“Yes, sir!” To prove his point, Kyle jumped to his feet as quickly as he could muster, ignoring his body’s protests. He left is handful of supplies on the floor, hoping that, since Connor was the boss, the doctor wouldn’t complain. Connor made a motion with his hand and the two walked out of the ward side by side.
Curiosity getting the best of him, Kyle couldn’t help but take in his new surroundings. When they had first brought him in, he was far too ill to look around as his stretcher had passed through these narrow hallways.
Now, as he saw them, he was relieved that he hadn’t ventured a peek before; they were disgusting - the walls smeared with stretches of dark brown, the floor caked with something more than mud. Crying and bitter shouts filtered through the walls from other parts of the building. The air reeked of misery as if it were a physical substance but, thankfully, of little else. It did not hold the smell of burnt flesh as the camp did.
“Sir?” he asked hesitantly. “Where are we?”
“The Beverly Center,” Conner stated, as if it would make perfect sense to Kyle, who merely furrowed his brows in confusion. Seeing the look, Connor sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. “An old business, where people used to come and buy supplies. It was huge back before the war, and had multiple levels. They collapsed on top of each other and created these tunnels. Anyway, we’re in West Hollywood.”
“Oh, okay,” Kyle said, although the last statement made no more sense than the first. He probably shouldn’t have bothered to ask the question.
“Are you from L. A.?”
“I don’t think so, sir.” It was hard to know where the once great city of Los Angeles began and ended anymore - it was nothing but a pile of rubble for miles around now. Kyle’s father had once told him that the city expanse went out as far as the ocean or nearly so, but Kyle had yet to see the sea.
“Where, then?” Connor asked, surprisingly adamant.
“Um, my father once said something about Yucaipa, sir,” he answered as best he could. He wasn’t from there, really - he had been born on the run - but that’s where his parents had come from. He thought the name sound funny, and so it was all the easier to recall.
“Yucaipa?” Connor paused for a moment and studied Kyle, the emotion playing across his face unreadable.
“Yessir.” Kyle bit his lip, attempting to understand Connor’s reaction. “We were headed east, though. On foot, towards ‘the boarder.’” Kyle had no idea what ‘the boarder’ was actually the boarder of, but the way his father spoke of it in such reverent tones, he could have guessed it was a place of salvation.
Instead of prompting him or shedding light on his father’s words, Connor merely nodded. “But the Seekers found you?”
“We stopped; too close to one of their bases, I guess.”
“Why?”
“My sister was being born, sir,” Kyle replied softly. Little Abigail Reese had lived a whole of four days. His vision became hazy and he felt the tears pickling at his eyes. He blinked, and willed them away.
Connor’s jaw twitched noticeably, but he said nothing, offered no sympathy. “Come on.”
They turned along the jagged hallway in a seemingly mindless course. As they went, the crowds of gathered survivors became sparser, and the voices became fainter.
“These are my quarters,” Connor announced, pulling back a tattered curtain. Kyle peered past him to look at the place where the legendary hero slept.
It wasn’t much. A bare twin mattress lying in the corner served as a bed, and a stack of HK drumchaises had been welded together into the form of a workbench. Various small weapons and parts were sprawled over it, with some of the larger pieces drooping onto the floor.
Connor stepped over to the bench, checking some papers under the soft glow of a 10-watt lamp. Kyle moved into the room, careful not to get too far, lest Connor didn’t want him nosing around his personal possessions. Dark shadows covered what looked to be a more interesting corner, where piles of paper were haphazardly collected.
A glint of metal caught Kyle’s eye when the movement of John’s body suddenly redirected the bulb’s light unto the far wall. There was a small pipe, possibility the arm of an old T-40, tacked up loosely with fasteners. Several small objects decorated the makeshift mantel, and Kyle found himself unconsciously edging closer to it to get a better view.
Trinkets. A little plastic man holding an equally plastic blue wand. Hard bone-like pieces curled around themselves in perfect spirals. A row of perfectly rounded metal disks, no bigger than Kyle’s index and middle fingers pressed together that either held a near bald man’s head or a large bird with its wings folded out.
Pictures. A dog much like the one resting in the med ward. A girl, nay woman, with auburn hair, high cheekbones, and gray eyes. A boy with oddly cut, long, black hair and soft, blue eyes. The last was another woman, blond, with a rough bandana lopped around her forehead. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail.
Kyle took another step so that he could make out the expression on the woman’s face. It wasn’t the generic, fake smile that the other two bore. She seemed almost … well, sad. Stuck in deep contemplation. Kyle knitted his eyebrows together, studying her. She was so beautiful.
“Reese,” Connor boomed, causing Kyle’s heart to jump into his throat. He turned, figuring he had been caught in the act of staring, but, thankfully, Connor’s eyes were still glued to his paper. “Do you know how to read?”
“What?” Kyle blinked in unguarded confusion. Connor looked up at him, eyebrow raised. Kyle’s mind remained at a standstill, trapped between embarrassment and bewilderment. “I mean, sir, well …” He paused, thinking. What constituted an ability to read? “A little.”
Connor nodded, throwing down his papers with out a second thought.
“You’ll need to read better than ‘a little.’ He walked over to the pile of papers and fished through it, Kyle’s nervous eyes following his every movement. “There used to be a store here that sold nothing but books. A few of them survived.” His hand rummaged around, knocking a few things away as he looked. “Aha, this ought to do the trick.”
He pulled out a worn and ratty volume and handed it to Kyle, who glanced at it skeptically.
“In your free time, read it,” Connor ordered. “When you feel ready, I want you to read it back out load to me. Keep an eye on it; people will burn anything. In the meantime,” - he gestured with his hand, urging him out towards the hallways again - “I want you training.”
They passed back through the complex, turning in another direction Kyle didn’t remember seeing before. This time, they paused before a large, nearly cavernous room filled with metal scraps arranged in every shape imaginable. Most made it look like the ruins outside, but a few things - the row of parallel bars held some six feet off the ground, for example - made it look somewhat otherworldly.
“You can practice here,” Connor said. “Eventually we’ll work up to some combat and evade and maneuvering techniques. But first, I want you working out on those monkey bars.” He pointed to the bars Kyle had noted earlier. “You should be able to swing from one to the next without stopping. You need to be able to lift yourself up using just your arms, too. Got that?”
Kyle nodded, trying not to look as nervous as he felt.
“Sometimes soldiers will be here. Watch what they do and try to imitate it. Maybe they’ll even offer to show you a few moves. You should take them up on it if they do.” Connor paused and wrapped his arms around his chest, staring back at Kyle.
“This is what you want, right, kid?” He glaze was intense, almost asking - begging, daring? - Kyle to step down and refuse. The sadness that was present in the woman’s photograph was nearly mirrored in his face.
“More than anything, sir.” Kyle favored him with a rare smile.
“All right, get to it, then.” At that, Connor dropped his head down and left, leaving Kyle alone in the chamber.
Kyle’s eyes darted to the ‘monkey bars’ and then momentarily to the book.
“If you give a mouse a cookie,” he read aloud. What a strange title. Why would anyone want to give a mouse anything? Maybe a cookie was something that made them easier to catch or taste better, or even got rid of some of their diseases. Shaking his head, he placed the book gently on the ground and turned back to the bars.