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So far, so good. She treated Togo to a leftover scrap of beaver. He gobbled it up enthusiastically, licking the palm of her glove. Molly looked over the nearby stretch of pipeline once more. The Resistance desperately needed the fuel for its vehicles and generators.

Just the same, let’s play this smart.

She got behind her own sled. Sensing her intentions, the dogs leapt to their feet. They tugged at their leather harnesses, eagerly awaiting a chance to stretch their legs. Her lead dogs—a pair of white Siberian huskies—looked back at her. There were ten dogs in all, hitched to the gang-line two by two. Molly had trained them since they were puppies. She trusted them with her life.

“I’ll act as bait,” she declared, “to draw any machines out.” There was no point in exposing the rest of her people to the possibility of enemy fire until she knew there were no Terminators lurking in the brush. She grabbed the sled’s handlebar and planted the soles of her boots firmly on the aluminum runners, then glanced back at the armed insurgents. “Cover me.”

“Wait!” Geir objected. Ice frosted his sexy blond whiskers, making him look older than his years. He tugged on the brake of his own sled. “Let me go instead.”

Molly shook her head.

“Forget it,” she said flatly. “You’re our only pilot.” A smart commander wouldn’t have brought him along in the first place; he belonged back at the camp, tending to Thunderbird, his precious fighter plane. But she was short on personnel. “Besides, my dogs are faster than yours.”

“Says who?” he retorted, but he stepped away from his sled. Geir knew better than to argue with her once she put her foot down; that put him one up on most of the men she had known, before and after Judgment Day. Unslinging a loaded M4 carbine from his shoulder, he marched to the edge of the woods and got into position to cover her.

More snipers fanned out along the perimeter. Geir winked at her.

“Anytime you want a race, you know where to find me.”

Molly grinned back at him. That was another thing about him, he always found a way to make her smile, in a world where that didn’t come easy. Sometimes she wondered where his upbeat attitude came from, and whether there was any way to bottle it.

“I’ll take you up on that—after we fill our tanks at Skynet’s expense.”

Her grin faded as she contemplated the open expanse of snow that stretched between the woods and the pipeline. She scanned the clearing one more time, then took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Time’s wasting, she scolded herself. Let’s get this show on the road.

“Hike!”

The dogs took off like a shot. No reins or whips were required, only verbal commands. The sled accelerated across the snow, breaking out from beneath the evergreens at six or seven miles per hour. The wind blew her hood back, exposing her face. The huskies’ racing paws kicked up a cloud of snowy powder. The lead dogs yipped at the team behind them, keeping the other dogs in line.

The exhilarating speed set Molly’s pulse racing, even as she tensed in anticipation of an ambush. She held her breath, half-expecting to feel hot metal tear through her in a heartbeat. For endless moments, her ears listened for the telltale roar of a chain gun or turbofan, but all she heard was the thrilling sound of the huskies racing through the snow. No Terminator reared its ugly metal skull.

How about that? She permitted herself a sigh of relief. The cold wind stung her ears. Maybe we’re in the clear after all.

The dogs ate up the distance to the pipeline in a matter of minutes.

Whoa!” The shouted command brought the team to an immediate halt. Molly jumped from the sled, drawing her own M4 as she did so. She swung its sights toward the gleaming steel underside, just to see if that would provoke a response. Heat exchangers were mounted to the bottom of the pipeline, to keep the ground below firm and frosty. A gauge measured the flow of oil.

“All right, you metal poachers,” she muttered. “Come and get me.”

Her defiant challenge went unanswered.

Molly lowered the rifle. She gestured to the others. The rest of the fuel party wasted no time breaking from the woods. Freight sleds and snowmobiles carried the empty drums and gas cans toward the looming steel artery. Geir’s sled was right out in front, of course, just where she expected it to be. A frosty white rooster-tail spread out like a vapor trail behind his runners. For a pilot, he wasn’t a half-bad musher.

She looked forward to racing him back to camp. We’ll see whose dogs are faster.

Moments later the rest of her crew arrived. Dismounting from their sleds and snowmobiles, they went to work with practiced efficiency. This wasn’t the first time they’d tapped Skynet’s veins. The empty drums were rolled into place beneath the pipeline. They climbed up the looming steel saddles. Spiked metal spigots, crafted by hand at a Resistance machine shop, were hammered into the underside of the pipe. Rubber tubing connected the upright barrels with the pipeline. Open valves let the stolen crude flow into the waiting containers. Excited workers, glad to be getting away with the heist, high-fived each other. Armed sentries, equipped with army-surplus grenade launchers and a couple of .50 caliber Barrett rifles, stood guard while the others worked. Dirty jokes and war stories relieved the tension. Someone hummed an old Britney Spears tune.

Molly was always impressed by how well the men and women worked together. They were a solid unit, no matter what Command thought of them. Relaxing a little, she took shelter beneath the elevated pipeline, putting one of the imposing steel saddles between her and the wind. Her rifle rested loosely in her grip, its oiled metal length level with her waist.

“Glad to see you weren’t chosen for target practice.” Geir joined her under the pipe. His sled was anchored to the ground a few feet away. “Guess it would have been okay to let Sitka tag along.”

Molly shrugged.

“Don’t want to spoil her.” The restless teenager was stuck back at camp babysitting Doc Rathbone, the camp’s resident mad scientist. Keeping the melancholy old man sober could be a full-time job, for which Sitka had a definite talent. They were an odd pair, but the girl brought out the best in Doc. He was training her to be his apprentice. “She’s got her own job to do.”

With the fuel run going smoothly, Molly started thinking ahead. She was going to need Doc’s computer expertise to crack whatever security measures were aboard the uranium train. A technophobe at heart, Molly had barely known how to program her cell phone before the bombs came down. But that was no longer an issue.

The Skynet Express clattered across her memory, and she recalled how the ever-watchful Aerostats had swooped in and out of the trestles supporting the bridge. That was going to be a problem....

The wind shifted. A crisp breeze rustled Molly’s hair.

The dogs leapt to their feet and howled at the woods on the other side of the pipeline. Their hackles rose.

“Fuck!”

Molly saw the attack coming even before the bullets started flying. Muzzles flared from the shadowy depths of the forest. Her people dropped like decoys in a shooting gallery. Half-filled gas cans hit the snow. Vicious uranium slugs punched through the metal drums, spilling crude oil onto the ground.

The smell of gunfire and petroleum filled the air. Blood and oil mixed together. Twitching bodies writhed amidst the crimson slush.