Terminator Salvation: Cold War by Greg Cox Read Free Book Online Page A

and women, who were already out of range of its gun.
    Thank God, Molly thought. At least this won’t be a total massacre.
    The T-600s paused to close the valves on the violated pipes, granting Molly a momentary respite. She reloaded her rifle and estimated their odds of slipping away while the Terminators were distracted. Then a diesel engine roared to life in the woods which had hidden the enemy.
    She shared a worried look with Geir.
    “Now what?”
    The answer barreled out of the forest in the form of a large automated snow plow. A wedge-shaped metal blade, raised ten inches above the snow, preceded an armored steel transport with snow tires and four-wheel drive. Chains around its tires granted the tank extra traction. A T-600 was seated in a turret on top of the plow, behind a mounted machinegun. Red eyes glinted in metal sockets.
    Tons of rolling metal came on like a bulldozer. Bullets sparked harmlessly off the blade.
    Geir gulped.
    “I don’t know about you, Molly, but I’m feeling more than a little outmatched.”
    “Me too,” Molly admitted grimly, though she continued to fire on the newcomer. She glanced around quickly. As nearly as she could tell, the rest of the fueling party was either dead or scattered. Time for a strategic retreat, not that the Terminators were going to make it easy.
    Her M4 ran out of ammo, and she hastily reloaded before backing away from the saddle.
    “Your sled or mine?”
    One of the T-600s that had been repairing the pipeline, a torn rubber ear dangling from his exposed cranial case, took that choice out of their hands. A sustained burst of fire killed the back half of Geir’s dog team. The remaining huskies, including Togo, pulled at their hitches, frantic to get away.
    Togo wheeled about and snarled at the Terminator. His lips peeled back, baring his fangs.
    “Shit!” Geir yanked a carbon-steel hunting knife from his belt and dived for his sled. Keeping his head low, he hacked through the cable that connected the snow hook to the sled, then flicked the quick-release catch on the snublines. “Scram, you fleabags. Hike!”
    Togo hesitated, reluctant to leave his master behind, so Molly fired a warning burst over the dog’s head. That did the trick; all of the surviving dogs sprinted for safety, dragging their dead kennel mates behind them. Bright canine blood streaked the snow.
    Then Molly bared her own teeth. The forest ranger in her hated to see animals suffer. Humans built Skynet, she thought guiltily. We brought this nightmare on ourselves. But the rest of nature shouldn’t have to suffer for our mistakes.
    Spinning, she sprinted for her own sled, firing back over her shoulder while choking on the smoke from the fires. Reaching her objective, she unhooked the anchor and clambered onto the runners. Frenzied barks and growls greeted her, but the dogs faithfully waited for her command. A pang stabbed Molly’s heart. She almost wished she hadn’t trained them so well; they’d probably live longer.
    She gripped the handlebar with one hand while emptying her rifle with the other. The M4’s handguard was getting uncomfortably hot to the touch. A steady stream of ejected shells shot from the firing mechanism.
    Geir charged across the bloody slush toward her, but not fast enough for comfort.
    “Hurry, flyboy!” she shouted. “Don’t keep me waiting!”
    “Do I ever?” Geir jumped onto the runners behind her. Crouching low, he wrapped his arms around her, holding on for dear life. “Your turn to drive.”
    About time, she thought.
    “Hike!”
    A burst of acceleration threw Molly backwards against Geir. Despite the weight of an extra passenger, the dogs broke speed records getting away from the bloodbath. The sled bounced over piled drifts of snow as Molly gave the dogs their head. Her foot stayed away from the brake. Loose powder, kicked up by the dogs, pelted her face.
    “Don’t look now,” Geir shouted in her ear, over gunfire behind them, “But they’re not