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Looking away from her, he loaded a shotgun with sabot shells, then began packing grenades and plastic explosive into a waiting pack.

Kate watched him for a long moment. Then she picked up a handgun and very carefully placed it against her temple. Pausing in his work, he slowly turned to face her, his eyes flicking from her face to the handgun and back again.

“Look at me. How does this make you feel? This is what you’re doing to me.”

Connor’s expression softened. “Kate, please....”

Slowly, she lowered the gun. But not her gaze.

“What about our child?”

He took a deep breath. “If I don’t stand up for what I believe in, what kind of father am I going to make?”

She gestured slightly with the muzzle of the weapon.

“We said we would get through this together. That’s the only reason we’ve made it this far. If you die....”

Her voice trailed away, unable to complete the sentence, unable to countenance the thought. Her strength was wavering, as was her conviction. She had been fighting a long time, and she was tired. She knew he was too, but somehow he always managed to bounce back. Always managed to summon strength from depths unknown, find confidence even in the darkest moments. She was strong, but not that strong. Not as strong as John Connor. That was why he had to stay alive. For the Resistance. For everyone. For her.

He saw what she was going through even as he sensed her emotional exhaustion.

“You live—and that’s all that matters to me, Kate. You’re the reason I’ve kept fighting for all these years. You have my whole heart. You always have, and you always will. You’re what I live for.” As he moved toward her, she let go of the gun. It dropped to the floor beside her, silent and no longer threatening.

Tears were running down her face, streaking her cheeks. Smiling affectionately, he placed his scarred hands gently on her stomach. Reaching up with one hand she touched his face, let her fingers trace the side of his jaw.

“This is not ‘goodbye,’” she whispered to him.

“No.” They kissed.

She pulled away. Someone had to. “See you later—okay?”

“Yeah.”

She managed a smile. “Every time I look into your eyes I know we’re still headed in the right direction,” she murmured softly. “I know that, somehow, we’ll make it. And I’m not the only one.”

She gestured to her right, toward the armory door that stood slightly ajar.

“You have a responsibility to those people out there, John. They believe you’re going to lead them to victory. What am I going to tell them when they find out you’re gone?”

She paused, sniffling and swallowing, trying to keep from breaking down completely.

“What am I going to tell myself?”

Looking into her face, unable to avoid the naked longing and desperation on display, he wondered what he could possibly say in response. Then he smiled anew, reassuringly, and gently wiped at her tears.

“I’ll be back.”

He turned, picked up the pack, shouldered his methodically chosen weapons, kissed her long and deep, and headed purposefully toward the doorway. Silently, she watched him go. Though his words hung in the air, she doubted them. Then she gathered herself and headed out in his wake. By the time she exited the armory he was gone.

Realizing there was nothing to be gained from trying to follow him, she strode purposefully toward the infirmary. Unable to do more than internalize her own suffering, she could at least help to alleviate that of others.

For the pain and the ache she was feeling, there was no medicine.

Like all scavengers, the crow and its brethren had done well out of the war. Not every person could be accorded a fit burial, far less the thousands of domesticated animals who had been left to live and die on their own when their human masters had been murdered by the rampaging machines. In addition, there were the wild creatures who perished of natural causes whose corpses could no longer be neatly swept up and disposed of by park authorities, ranchers, and others now occupied with simply trying to survive.

The crow had no reason to avoid