Godzilla--The Official Movie Novelization

by Greg Cox

  A little warning would have been nice, Ford thought, although he couldn’t blame the locomotive engineer for hitting the brakes. That explosion had looked way too big, too close. Who knew what was waiting for the train on the other side of that tunnel? Were there even any tracks left?

  Master Sergeant Waltz hopped down from the locomotive onto the gravel beside the train. He called out to Tre, who was stationed on the missile car directly behind the locomotive.

  “Sergeant, I need you down here… now.”

  Tre gulped and looked to Ford for sympathy. Aw, shit was written all over his face.

  The soldier did his duty, however, and quickly joined Waltz down on the ground. A light fog blanketed the earth. Thick groves of pines and sequoias hemmed in the tracks on both sides, while the tunnel entrance ahead was as black as outer space. Ford looked on as Tre donned a large backpack-mounted radio, which Waltz attempted to employ.

  “Snake Eyes, this is Bravo,” the master sergeant said into the radio. He fiddled impatiently with the knobs. “What’s the status at phase line red? Are the tracks clear, over?”

  Static growled from the other end of the transmission, along with background noise from a heated battle. Nonstop explosions and shouting crackled from the radio.

  “Say again?” a voice answered, barely audible through the interference. “You’re breaking up.”

  More soldiers disembarked from the train. They gathered around the radio, frowning. This was not sounding good, for themselves or their mission. Had they reached the end of the line?

  Ford was feeling an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Hopping down from the missile car, he found himself drawn to the pitch-black tunnel entrance ahead. A flashlight was attached to the barrel of his M4 automatic rifle. For a second, he felt as though he was back on that monorail train in Honolulu, with the original MUTO waiting just around the bend.

  The voice from the radio grew louder and more agitated, punctuated by bursts of static:

  “… not… time… peat… now! Go, GO NOW!”

  An agonized scream came over the radio, followed by a brutal crunching noise. The voice went silent; only static issued from the radio. Waltz and the others stiffened, fearing that they had just heard a comrade die in battle. Tre crossed himself.

  Slightly further up the track, Ford peered warily into the mouth of the tunnel. Was it just his imagination or could he faintly make out some sort of the movement inside the tunnel? From what he’d gathered, the second MUTO couldn’t possibly fit inside the narrow passage, but something appeared to be heading toward them, surging out of the blackness.

  He quickly raised his rife and aimed it at the tunnel. The flashlight beam failed to penetrate the darkness. He started to shout a warning, just as a blast of dust and leaves and forest litter exploded from the tunnel, propelled by a luminous electric pulse. The flying dirt and twigs buffeted Ford, driving him backward. His flashlight instantly shorted out and so did all the lights on the train, car after car. The radio on Tre’s back went dead, too, killing the static. Startled troops shouted in the dark:

  “What the hell was that?”

  “What happened?”

  “Hey, where are the lights?”

  But Ford understood. Instinctively, like a child in a lightning storm, he had started counting to himself under his breath.

  “…three-one-thousand, four-one-thousand, five-one-thousand…”

  A triumphant howl, echoing from the other side of the mountain, cut him off. The din of the nearby battle ceased, so that only the unsettling screeching of the female MUTO could be heard. There were no more bombs or explosions, no tracers or lasers visible beyond the ridge. Brushing the leaves and twigs from his face, Ford realized what the sudden cessation of hostilities meant.

  The battle was over—and the MUTO had won.

  That same realization was shared by Waltz and the rest of the troops. The frantic shouts trailed off, replaced by a stunned hush that was finally broken by the master sergeant.

  “Corporal,” he ordered a nearby communications expert, “get Snake Eyes on the line again. I need to know how close that thing is.”

  Ford had already counted that out. “Five miles.”

  Waltz turned toward Ford and squinted at him through the dark. It was hard to make out the master sergeant’s features, but Waltz nodded as though impressed. Ford refrained from bragging that this was hardly his first run-in with a MUTO’s electromagnetic pulse. He was practically becoming an old hand at this.

  Lucky me, he thought.

  “Lieutenant,” Waltz addressed Ford, sizing him up. He gestured at the deep black cavity of the tunnel entrance. “Wanna join us. We’re going in to check that tunnel.”

  While the train remained parked outside, Ford, Waltz, Tre and another rifleman, Brubaker, cautiously advanced into the stygian blackness of the tunnel. Fallen leaves and gravel crunched beneath their boots. Spare bulbs, screwed into the flashlights on their rifles, restored a degree of visibility. Incandescent beams penetrated the darkness before them. Ford and Tre took point, leading the way.

  The men stop short as they suddenly spied two glowing eyes staring back at them. Ford tightened his grip on his rifle and almost fired until the flashlight beams revealed a lone deer, frozen in terror at what lay beyond the tunnel. In a clatter of hooves, the deer dashed past the soldiers, who jumped out of its way.

  How about that? Ford thought, gasping in relief. It took a moment for his heart to stop racing. Guess that fella didn’t get the memo to clear out.

  The men moved on until they reached other end of the tunnel. Waltz signaled for alert as he warily stepped out into the open. Ford and the others followed after him, guns at the ready. Ford suspected that the deer had had the right idea, running in the opposite direction.

  A long trestle bridge stretched before them, high above a deep gorge carved out by a raging mountain river. Rushing water could be heard, but night and mist hid the bottom of the gorge, as well as the far end of the bridge. The fog made it impossible to tell at a glance if the bridge was still intact all the way across. They would have to check that out and inspect the bridge’s supports as well. They needed to know whether the bridge had been damaged by the recent battle and whether it would still support the missile train.

  “Master Sergeant,” Ford said, taking the initiative. “Why don’t you and Brubaker check below?” He nodded at Tre. “Sergeant Morales, you’re with me.”

  Waltz approved Ford’s plan of action. He and Brubaker hopped a side-rail and began to carefully descend a steep path down to the rapids below. Ford and Tre watched them vanish into the mist before turning to face the fog-shrouded span ahead of them. Ford glanced around warily, but couldn’t detect any sign of a lurking MUTO. He hoped to God that the monster had moved on after crushing that last wave of troops. He’d already two run-ins with the first MUTO. He could live without encountering the second one as well.

  The two men advanced through the fog, discovering obvious signs of damage. Wide gaps stretched between the slats beneath their feet, forcing them to step cautiously. Scorched steel and charred timbers testified that the battle had indeed passed this way. Deep gouges in the tracks looked uncomfortably like claw marks.

  A broken slat caught Ford by surprise. Stumbling, he accidentally smacked the barrel of his rifle against an upright safety rail. The impact knocked the flashlight from its holder and it plummeted down through the irregular slats. It spun down into the mist like a falling star.

  Damn.

  * * *

  Brubaker jumped as a falling flashlight smacked into the rocky shore of the river, many feet below the bridge. Waltz didn’t blame the young rifleman for being scared, given the circumstances, but the master sergeant’s face remained stern and unmoving. Chances were, either Brody or Morales had just lost their flashlights for some reason. It was annoying, but if that was the biggest snafu they ran into on this mission he’d count himself lucky. All that mattered now was keeping the missile train going,
so that the brass got their nukes—before the MUTO did.

  Descending to the bottom of the gorge, they reached the riverbed. White water surged over nearby rapids while the rocks beneath their feet had been worn smooth by flooding waters. Waltz turned back to look in the direction of the bridge, whose iron supports were half hidden by the mist, which was even thicker here down by the river. He scowled as he spotted a dim light flickering further upstream, growing brighter by the second.

  What the—?

  Flaming wreckage, including mangled helicopters, tanks, jeeps, drones and bodies, came rushing over the rapids. Burning fuel and incendiary gel blazed atop the flowing water, spilling onto the narrow shore. Waltz and Brubaker dived for cover to get out of the way of the blazing debris. They scrambled up the slope to get to safety, dodging the fiery remnants of his fellow soldiers’ lost battle.

  * * *

  Something was crashing loudly against the rocks below. Peering over the edge of the bridge, Ford and Tre could make out a red-hot glow through the mist and murk. For a moment, Ford expected to hear the blood-chilling howl of a MUTO but, if this was a monster attack, why weren’t Waltz and Brubaker firing their weapons?

  Concerned, he whistled once. A tense moment followed before he heard an answering whistle from below. He let out a sigh of relief, as did Tre. It was good to know that the rest of their team had not run into serious trouble. At least, not yet.

  Confident that Waltz and Brubaker did not require immediate reinforcements, Ford and Tre continued to make their way across the battle-scarred bridge. The thickening haze and uncertainty made every step a definite test of nerves, but at last the wooded mountain ridge on the far side of the gorge came into view. The two soldiers grinned at each other, encouraged by the sight. Although battered, the bridge was still in one piece. The train could keep going.

  Almost giddy with relief, Tre wasted no time notifying the locomotive driver.

  “All clear,” he said into the radio. “I say again, all clear.”

  Eager to get on the road, neither man noticed as a craggy mountain peak behind them began to move…

  * * *

  In the locomotive’s engine room, an Army engineer replaced one last fuse. The monster’s EMP had done a number on the train’s electronics, but the Missile Express was ready to roll again. He nodded as Morales’ “all clear” filtered over the radio. Moments later, Waltz confirmed that the bridges main supports appeared structurally sound.

  That’s good enough for me, the engineer thought. Let’s get this show back on the road.

  He fired up the diesel engines, which churned to life, sending up plumes of white smoke into the misty mountain air. The whistle blew and the rest of the troops got back on the train and resumed defensive positions around the ICBMs. To be honest, the load of warheads made the engineer nervous. He couldn’t wait to get rid of them.

  He released the brakes, figuring he could pick up Waltz and the other scouts on the far side of the bridge. The train chugged forward, picking up momentum as it entered the tunnel. Its wheels sparked against the track, providing flashes of light in the blackness of the tunnel.

  With any luck, the engineer hoped, it would be a straight shot from here on.

  * * *

  Below the bridge, climbing back up toward the cracks, Waltz thought he saw something stirring high above the trees. He signaled Brubaker and they ducked behind what appeared to be the thick trunk of a towering sequoia. The tree’s bark, he noted, was strangely textured, almost though as it was made of some sort of hard shell-like substance. A viscous sap or resin oozed down the side of the tree—which suddenly uprooted itself from the ground. Claws appeared at the base of the tree.

  Son of a bitch, Waltz thought. That’s not a tree. It’s a leg!

  “MOVE!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “TAKE COVER!”

  * * *

  The “mountain” detached itself from the ridge and leaned toward the bridge.

  “Hit the deck!” Ford shouted to Tre. The men threw themselves on the tracks and rolled over onto their backs. They froze, holding their breaths, as the female MUTO crouched over the bridge. Ford couldn’t help comparing it to the winged monster he’d encountered in Japan and Honolulu. The new creature was even larger and more massive than the first MUTO. Inhuman red eyes searched the night. Bioluminous sensors pulsed along its snout, as if it was sniffing the air for… what?

  Us, Ford thought. Maybe it’s looking for us.

  The men lay still upon the tracks, not moving a muscle. Ford allowed himself to hope that maybe they would escape the colossal beast’s attention. The first MUTO had ignored him back in Japan after all. In the foggy night, they might be too small and insignificant to notice. All they had to do was keep quiet.

  Then Tre’s radio began to sputter, perhaps affected by the MUTOs electrical aura. Static crackled loudly. Terrified, Tre tried to turn the radio off, but the switch had no effect.

  “Shit, shit,” he cursed. “Come on, come on—”

  The MUTO’S hideous face dipped in closer, attracted by the noise. Its crimson eyes narrowed in concentration. Drool dripped from its beak, which was big enough to swallow both men whole in a single gulp, and still have room for a nuclear missile or two.

  Unable to silence the radio, Tre struggled to undo the straps of the backpack, but his frantic efforts threatened to expose the two men even more than the squawking radio. Ford grabbed onto the backpack to hold it still. He raised a finger to his lips. His eyes locked onto the other man’s, conveying an urgent message.

  Don’t move.

  Tre stopped wriggling and kept perfectly still. Sweat drenched his face, though, and his naked fear matched Ford’s own. Endless moments passed as the soldiers lay flat on their backs atop the bridge, waiting to see if they personally had reached the end of the line. The sheer unfairness of it all tore at Ford’s soul. He couldn’t believe that he’d survived the attacks in Japan and Hawaii, and finally made it back to America, only to be done in by yet another goddamn monster, only a few hundred miles away from Elle and Sam. He’d come so close to making it back to them.

  But then the MUTO seemed to lose their scent or perhaps just its interest. Lifting its head, it reared up on its hind legs, blotting out the sky. Ford spied a large glowing nodule clinging to the underside of the creature’s abdomen, only yards above the two soldiers. The sight jogged his memory and he recalled some of the old photos Dr. Serizawa had showed him back on the Saratoga. The luminous nodule bore disturbing resemblance to the giant egg sacs that had been found in the Philippines years ago. The ones that MUTOs had hatched from.

  Holy crap, he thought. They’re breeding.

  The MUTO began to move off, heading west toward the coast, but then the tracks began to rattle, signaling the approach of an oncoming train. Ford realized with horror that the missile train was coming through the tunnel and had no idea that the MUTO was on the other side.

  He prayed that the monster would hurry on its way, but no such luck. Attracted by the vibrating of the tracks, the MUTO wheeled about and trundled into the fog to meet the train. Obscured by the mist, it hunched over the tracks, eight monstrous limbs lying in wait. Its maw opened wide.

  No! Ford thought. He leapt to his feet and sprinted toward the tunnel exit, shouting and waving his arms. “STOP THE TRAIN!”

  But a savage howl drowned out his cries. Moments later, gunfire erupted in the fog and Ford saw muzzles flashes going off like crazy. The battle had been joined and, horribly, Ford had no doubt which side was fighting for their lives. If the best efforts of the U.S. military had been unable to halt the MUTO’s destructive rampage so far, what chance did the train’s pitiful defenders have?

  Only Godzilla had proven a match for the MUTOs so far.

  The besieged train came roaring out of the fog, even as its gargantuan attacker grabbed at it with its claws and fangs. Multiple limbs greedily snatched up the eighty-ton ICBMs as though they were sticks of candy. Armed soldiers, valiantly a
ttempting to defend the missiles, were swept aside by the monster’s claws, their torn bodies plunging into the flaming waters far below. Automatic-weapon fire had no effect on the voracious creature, whose obsidian shell repelled everything the doomed troopers threw at it. The MUTO’s prismatic aura rippled the air around it.

  Ford and Tre ran from the oncoming train and the monster attacking it. Desperate to get off the bridge, they sprinted for the western end of the span and safety. Their boots pounded on the tracks as they threw caution to the winds. Ford leapt over gaps in the slats, racing to reach the far end of the bridge in time. Tre tried to keep up with him, but was weighed down by the bulky radio unit on his back. Huffing and puffing, he fell badly behind. Glancing behind him, Ford saw the besieged train bearing down on them faster than they could run.

  They weren’t going to make it.

  “GET DOWN!” he shouted back at Tre.

  But it was too late. A gigantic limb obliterated the track right where Tre was. The soldier disappeared along with a wide stretch of track, even as train came barreling across the broken bridge toward the gap… and Ford.

  The entire bridge began to disintegrate beneath his feet. With no time to think, he leapt from the crumbling structure and plunged toward the churning river. The entire train, complete with its remaining cargo of ICBMs plummeted after him, cascading over the edge of the severed tracks. Ford fell through the fog and hit the cold water feet first, sinking beneath the foam. He kicked his way to the surface long enough to snatch a breath of air before the current dragged him under again and carried him away. Tons of train and missiles rained down behind him, sounding like an avalanche.

  And yet, above the din, he could still hear the MUTO’s shrieking howl.

  NINETEEN

  The lights of San Francisco could be seen from the Saratoga, which continued to trail Godzilla at a safe distance. The monster’s immense dorsal fins sliced through the churning waves toward the coast, where a row of Navy LCS vessels had formed a blockade miles offshore. The Littoral Combat Ships, which were expressly designed for operations close to shore, were somewhat smaller, swifter and shallower than conventional frigates or destroyers, but still packed plenty of punch. Each vessel was armed with both 57mm guns and a full complement of surface-to-air missiles.