Sarah Connor - Christmas In - My Heart -

In the backseat, ten-year-old John was asleep, clutching a handheld GameBoy like a talisman. He’d spent the day practice-firing a 9mm into rusted oil drums. He hadn’t asked about Santa. He knew better.

"Merry Christmas, Kyle," she whispered. Her voice was a dry rasp, unused to anything but commands and warnings.

Suddenly, a faint sound drifted on the wind. It wasn't the metallic clatter of an HK aerial or the crunch of bone under a T-800’s tread. It was a radio, miles away in a trailer park, playing a tinny, distorted version of a carol. “I’ll be home for Christmas... if only in my dreams.”

Sarah looked at the dark road ahead, stretching into an uncertain future. She put the Jeep in gear, her hand steady on the wheel.

She climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine turned over with a violent growl.

In the backseat, ten-year-old John was asleep, clutching a handheld GameBoy like a talisman. He’d spent the day practice-firing a 9mm into rusted oil drums. He hadn’t asked about Santa. He knew better.

"Merry Christmas, Kyle," she whispered. Her voice was a dry rasp, unused to anything but commands and warnings.

Suddenly, a faint sound drifted on the wind. It wasn't the metallic clatter of an HK aerial or the crunch of bone under a T-800’s tread. It was a radio, miles away in a trailer park, playing a tinny, distorted version of a carol. “I’ll be home for Christmas... if only in my dreams.”

Sarah looked at the dark road ahead, stretching into an uncertain future. She put the Jeep in gear, her hand steady on the wheel.

She climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine turned over with a violent growl.