by Greg Cox
“Mommy! Look!”
Puzzled, she turned toward the television…
FIFTEEN
The sun rose over the beach at Waikiki, which now resembled a refugee camp more than a vacation spot. Both civilian and military medical tents had been erected along the scorched coastline, while scores of stressed-out first responders coped with the wounded, the homeless, and the traumatized. Most of the major blazes had been extinguished, despite the heaps of rubble blocking the streets, but smoke still rose from scattered small fires between the beach and the airport. Once-luxurious hotels and condos were now just larger mountains of debris, which emergency crews were desperately excavating in hopes of finding trapped survivors beneath the collapsed buildings. The press was already on the scene, interviewing survivors. Rumor had it the president had declared Oahu a disaster area.
For the second time in as many days, Ford found himself wandering through the aftermath of a devastating monster attack, except that this time he had a lost child in his arms. After being rescued from the damaged monorail, he and Akio had been bussed with numerous other survivors to the beach, which was now the center of the relief efforts. Ford had wanted to search the airport, try to locate Akio’s parents, but had been assured that every terminal had been evacuated. In theory, the tents here were his best chance at reconnecting the boy with his family, but Ford was starting to lose hope. The camp was full of desperate people, urgently seeking missing loved ones. Akio’s plight was just a drop in the bucket.
He carried the trembling child into one of the larger Red Cross tents. Akio clung to Ford; he had not let go of his rescuer since Godzilla had chased the MUTO away from the airport. Ford found himself feeling oddly grateful for the giant lizard’s timely intervention. He wondered where Dr. Serizawa was and what he thought of Godzilla’s return.
“Excuse me?” Ford called out, trying to get someone’s attention. “This boy’s been separated from his parents. I’m—”
But the medics and emergency workers were too busy to deal with him. The canvas tent was crammed with shell-shocked survivors in equally dire straits—or worse. Ford’s heart sank as he spied a makeshift morgue where far too many bodies were draped with sheets. He began to wonder if he was fooling himself in thinking that he could bring about a happy reunion in the midst of such widespread carnage and destruction. For all Ford knew, Akio’s parents were already dead, killed by rampaging monsters.
Just like dad.
“Akio! Akio!”
A woman’s voice cried out frantically. Ford spun around and saw the boy’s parents shoving their way through the crowd. Tears of joy streamed down the couple’s faces. Although a little worse for wear, neither appeared to be seriously injured.
Akio leapt from Ford’s arms and ran straight to his mother and father, who embraced him fervently. Ford couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a family so happy to be reunited; even the loved ones greeting the returning troops in San Francisco paled in comparison. Ford found it hard to believe that mere days had passed since he’d stepped off that plane to meet Elle and Sam at the Air Force base. So much had happened since then, so much death and devastation. His throat tightened as he watched Akio’s sobbing mother sweep her child up into her arms. He knew he’d do the same if Sam was here now.
He started forward to speak with Akio’s parents, but quickly realized that the weeping couple hadn’t even registered his existence. Akio was all that mattered to them right now; the rest of the world had faded into insignificance, which was perfectly understandable. Ford stepped back, not wanting to intrude on the emotional reunion. His role in this particular drama was over. Akio was where he belonged.
Good, Ford thought, overcome with relief. Take care, bud.
The family moved off, seeking whatever help or safety could be found these days. Akio glanced back at Ford over his father’s shoulder before the family vanished into the crowds and confusion. Ford silently wished them luck. He figured the whole world could all use a little of that with warring monsters on the loose. The entire planet had just become a much more dangerous place.
Mankind was no longer the most dangerous beast alive. Not by a long shot.
Suddenly on his own, in the midst of strangers, Ford now had only had one thing on his mind. Scanning the crowd around him, his eyes zeroed in on a cell phone in the hands of a passing survivor. He rushed up to the man, who was wearing a soot-stained Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. He was missing one sandal. Numerous small cuts and scratches marred his face. Ford guessed that he probably looked much the same.
“Are you getting service on that thing?” he asked
“No,” the man said, shaking his head. “Those things must have taken out every working tower. The pay phones don’t even work.” He eyed Ford hopefully. “Do you have a car?”
A car wasn’t going to do Ford any good. He shook his head and walked away from the other man, already forgetting him. He needed to get hold of Elle and let her know that he was okay and trying to get back to her and Sam.
She must be worried sick.
A contingent of U.S. military personnel, from every branch of the service, entered the tent. Ford hurried up to them. He approached an Army soldier, who had paused to let some injured on stretchers pass in front of him.
“Lieutenant Brody, U.S. Navy,” Ford introduced himself. The soldier looked up, seeing only a ragged figure whose torn and filthy civilian clothing had been through the wars. Ford hadn’t even shaved for days. “I was here on leave,” Ford explained.
The soldier nodded, understanding.
“Excellent timing, Sir.” He offered Ford a crisp salute. “Sergeant Morales.”
Ford was relieved that Morales, who looked to be about the same age he was, had not challenged Ford’s claim. He hoped the friendly soldier could be of assistance.
“I need to get to the mainland,” he said.
“Well, see, it really is your lucky day, Sir.” Morales grinned at Ford, who didn’t get the joke. “General Orders. All branches. Everything not tied down is moving east.” He chuckled wryly as he headed across the tent. “We’re all Monster Hunters now.”
East, Ford thought. Across the Pacific… after the creatures?
“Is that where they’re heading?”
The sergeant, although accommodating, was in too much of hurry to answer all Ford’s questions. He stepped lively to keep up with the other military personnel. “Our truck’s right outside.”
Ford hustled after him, even as his mind reeled at the alarming news he’d just received. Whatever relief he’d experienced from reuniting Akio with his parents was instantly dispelled by a growing fear for his own family’s safety. His worst fears were coming true.
The giant creatures were heading east… toward the west coast of North America. Toward Elle and Sam.
* * *
The observation platform overlooking the Saratoga’s flight deck, located on the carrier’s upper island, was nicknamed “Vulture’s Row.” The unnerving parallel with the crow’s nest back at the doomed Japanese base was not lost on Serizawa. A briny wind blew against him as he occupied the high balcony, distractedly twisting the stem of his antique pocket watch. The observation platform offered an excellent view of operations down on the flight deck, but he gazed out at the ocean instead, where Godzilla could be seen swimming across the Pacific.
The submerged leviathan was a great dark mass swimming beneath the waves. The peaks of his spiky dorsal fins sliced through the churning foam, directly ahead of the carrier fleet, which had to pour on the speed to keep up with the swiftly moving colossus. The Saratoga could manage a maximum speed of more than thirty knots but Godzilla was even faster. Unmanned aerial vehicles, designed for low-altitude surveillance, skimmed above the surface of the water like a flock of seabirds dogging an orca. The Saratoga and the rest of the strike group followed behind the undersea monster at what they hoped was a safe distance. To the mounting concern of everyone aboard, Godzilla remained on course for the
west coast of the United States.
Which meant the MUTO was heading for America as well.
Frowning, the scientist put his watch away and descended several decks to the CDC, where the war room remained a buzzing hive of activity. Glowing monitors displayed flickering satellite imagery of the flying MUTO as well as live UAV footage of Godzilla swimming beneath the sea. Vivienne Graham stared in fascination at the visuals. Despite the undeniable danger to the human population, she was obviously intrigued by the unique organisms she had tracked and studied for most of her career.
Serizawa knew exactly how she felt.
“Last satellite tracks had the MUTO continuing due east,” Petty Officer Martinez reported from her post. She glanced up at an accompanying image of Godzilla. “For the moment, it seems like the big one is following it.”
Serizawa corrected her. “Hunting.”
A theory was coming together in his head, which seemed to be supported by the latest data. Once again, Nature held the key. The monsters’ current behavior was consistent with basic biology.
“All vessels maintain current standoff distance,” Admiral Stenz ordered, overseeing the operations. He remained in command of the joint forces’ response to the crisis. “Map this thing’s current course and bearing and start compiling a list of all possible solutions that will allow us to interdict before these… whatever they are… make landfall.” His tone and expression were equally grim. “I need options.”
The backlit table continued to plot out potential courses for both creatures, constantly updated to reflect the most recent intel. Dotted lines headed for the western seaboard, with possible landfall sites including Vancouver, Seattle, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, as well as locations in Peru, Panama, and Argentina. There were too many possibilities over too great a distance, making it difficult to plan a defense against the monsters’ eventual arrival. Serizawa contemplated the ever-changing lines on the map.
Ford Brody is from San Francisco, he recalled. He wondered if the young lieutenant had finally made it home, after burying his father at sea. I believe he mentioned a wife and child.
“Sir,” Martinez said. “Based on the current tracks, all our models have the targets converging on the US Pacific coast.”
Stenz scowled. He turned away from the screens to consult Serizawa.
“Doctor, are we certain this is the same animal from sixty years ago?”
Serizawa suspected as much. “Remains were never found,” he reminded the admiral.
“But if the MUTO is his prey,” Graham began, calling Serizawa’s attention back to the printout of the wave pattern Joe Brody had detected, “this signal shows a call. Why call up a predator?”
Stenz and others present threw out possible explanations, with even Martinez chiming in with something about echoes or audio distortions, but Serizawa no longer had any doubts or questions. There seemed only one obvious conclusion.
“It didn’t,” he said solemnly. “The predator was only listening. The MUTO was calling something else.” His reasoning led him to another ominous hypothesis. “The pattern,” he addressed Graham urgently. “Focus our search on Nevada.”
The intensity of his tone cut through the chatter. Competing voices tapered off as all present gave Serizawa their full attention.
“Nevada?” Captain Hampton asked. “What makes you think—?”
Graham got there first. The blood drained from her face. “You don’t think it could be…?”
“Fill me in here,” Stenz said impatiently. “Why Nevada?”
“There was another spore,” Graham informed him. “Intact. Found in the Philippine mine.” She looked at Serizawa, shaking her head in disbelief. “But we examined it, ran every test for years. You confirmed it for yourself. It was dormant.”
Serizawa understood her skepticism. He had indeed spent years studying the apparently inert egg sac they had recovered from inside the giant skeleton in the Philippines. Unlike the larva that had burst from the other egg sac and made its way to Japan, the organism in the captured spore had displayed no trace of vitality or growth. It had not been absorbing spilled radiation from a nuclear meltdown. By all indications, it had been an unbroken state of stasis or hibernation. And yet…
“Maybe not anymore,” he said.
The horror of this possibility, that they might be dealing with two MUTOs, caused a momentary hush to fall over the CDC. Martinez gulped and even Hampton’s stoic reserve cracked for a moment.
“The spore,” Stenz asked urgently. “Where is it now?”
“It was highly radioactive,” Graham said. “It was disposed of… by the Americans.”
“Where?” Stenz repeated, even more forcefully.
“Where you put your nuclear waste,” Serizawa said flatly. He called their attention back to the map table, where two converging dotted lines extended past the west coast of the North America.
Nevada lay directly in their path.
* * *
A stone marker, alongside a dusty desert road, pointed to the nearby Nevada National Security Site, about sixty-five miles northeast of Las Vegas. For over forty years, the desolate and cratered terrain beyond had been the site of nearly a thousand nuclear bomb tests. Cacti sprouted amidst the sunbaked dunes and gullies. A military convoy sped past the marker, stirring up a cloud of dust. Air Force helicopters flew overhead, keeping pace with the rumbling troop carriers below. Inside the trucks, tense soldiers geared up in anticipation. An assault force donned radiation suits and gas masks. Heavy weaponry was prepped for battle: assault rifles, machine guns, rocket launchers, grenades, and whatever else might make a dent in a monster. The mood among the soldiers was grim. Everyone on the mission had heard about what had struck Hawaii and had seen some of the on-line footage of the gigantic creatures tearing up Honolulu. They knew they had to be ready for anything.
The convoy quickly reached its destination. The Yucca Mountain Nuclear Waste Depository was the final resting place for more than 70,000 metric tons of spent nuclear fuel and radioactive waste from nuclear power plants and reprocessing operations all over the country. Dug deep into a barren ridge of volcanic rock, surrounded by acres of restricted federal land, the vast repository was designed to contain the highly toxic materials for at least ten thousand years and possibly longer. In theory, it could withstand earthquakes, the elements, even time itself.
Giant prehistoric monsters, on the other hand, had not been taken into account.
The main entrance to the facility consisted of an enormous tunnel that had been bored into the north side of the mountain. Armed guards stationed at the entrance admitted the troops, who deployed with both speed and purpose. The commander of the assault force, Captain Roger Pyle, led his men through a sprawling underground maze of tunnels, branching off into numerous long galleries lined with large sealed compartments. Steel doors, each nearly thirty feet tall, guarded the vaults and their lethal contents, which were routinely sealed inside solid steel canisters. View ports were installed in each door to allow for direct visual inspections.
Moving swiftly but methodically, the soldiers worked their way through the dimly lit tunnels, checking each vault on the go. The precise location of the captured Philippine egg sac was buried amidst layers of official secrecy, misdirection, redactions, and plausible deniability, defying ready access, but Pyle had reason to believe that it was somewhere in this particular gallery, nearly a thousand feet under the mountain. Given the possibility that a second MUTO might be stirring, it had been decided to conduct an immediate search and inspection of the vaults, pronto.
“Move it!” Pyle urged his men. “On the double!”
One after another, view ports were slid open. Flashlights probed the interiors of the vaults, finding only the expected stores of nuclear waste in their airtight casks. So far everything appeared secure, although they had yet to locate the MUTO egg, hatched or otherwise. Pyle had to wonder what the brass was thinking, storing something like that. He would have blown it to pieces
years ago.
Then maybe they might not be in the fix they were in.
Pyle hung back, observing the operation, as yet another view port was opened. Instead of the usual darkness, a blinding white light shone in his face. Blinking, he shielded his eyes from the glare and recoiled along with his men. Instantly on guard, soldiers raised their weapons as their comrades warily unsealed the massive hatch. More light flooded the tunnel as the heavy door swung open, revealing a disturbing sight.
Goddamnit, Pyle thought.
The entire vault had been torn open from the inside. An enormous hole, at least three hundred feet in diameter, gaped at the far end of the cavernous chamber, where what appeared to be a newly dug tunnel climbed all the way up to the surface. The blinding light pouring down from above? That was sunshine, Pyle realized, coming from outside the buried repository.
Yucca Mountain had been breached—from within.
Already dreading what he’d find, Pyle and his soldiers scrambled up the crude tunnel, which was big enough to accommodate a tank or more. It was a steep climb and he was breathing hard by the time he reached the top, where the passage opened onto a panoramic view of the sprawling desert to the south. Heaps of shattered stone were strewn beneath the tunnel exit, where something had obviously burst up through the base of the mountain. Enormous tracks, at least fifty feet across, scarred the arid landscape, leading off to the horizon.
Pyle called sharply for binoculars, which were immediately smacked into his grip by a junior officer. Raising the high-tech lenses to his eyes, he increased the magnification to maximum and scoured the sunlit badlands to the south. Through a haze of uprooted sand and dirt, he glimpsed the distant outline of another enormous creature making its way across the desert.
They were too late, he realized. A second MUTO had hatched.
And it was headed straight for Las Vegas.
SIXTEEN
What happened in Vegas now tended to end up on the internet, but Sin City was still going strong. Unconcerned or unaware of the disaster in Hawaii, eager gamblers packed the floor of one of the Strip’s many lavish casinos. Rows of men and women sat at slot machines, feeding their salaries to the one-armed bandits. Dice rolled across green felt tabletops to the accompaniment of fervent groans, cheers, and prayers. People gathered around the blackjack and poker tables, spilling their drinks onto the garish carpet. Crystal chandeliers and plenty of neon added to the sensory overload. A color TV, mounted on a wall by the bar, displayed handheld camera footage of the winged MUTO, but was going largely ignored. A skeptical retiree, scowling up at the screen, muttered that the whole thing was a hoax “like global warming,” but nobody paid any attention to her. Honolulu was very far away and, anyway, the monsters were somebody else’s problem.