Independence Day: Resurgence: The Official Movie Novelization

by Alex Irvine

  The woman screamed as the next contraction hit and she pushed with everything she had. Jasmine looked over her shoulder. She had scissors, blankets, the whole delivery setup in place. She could do this herself, as long as the mother-to-be didn’t have any complications. If she did…

  Jasmine refused to think about that. As the young woman’s scream trailed away, she worked the baby’s head free.

  They might just make it, she thought.

  33

  God, Jake thought. How much bigger can you build something? It didn’t seem impossible to him that when this ship landed, it would tip the Earth off its axis. It was that big.

  Some of the debris sucked up by the ship’s passage over Asia started to fall away, and the tug also started to move.

  “What goes up must come down…” David muttered.

  Sourpuss, Jake thought. “We’re free!” he shouted.

  “We’re upside down!” Catherine said.

  “Don’t worry,” Jake said. “We’re in a controlled dive.”

  David gripped the armrests of his chair, his flight panic back in full force.

  “We’re falling!” he cried. “It’s called falling!”

  Jake eased the tug away from the alien ship and maneuvered through what seemed like a never-ending barrage of obstacles appearing from the clouds. After the shock of seeing the fleet of passenger jets destroyed, it was almost an anticlimax when Kuala Lumpur’s famous Petronas Towers appeared out of nowhere—except they were aimed right at the tug. Everything seemed to be flying in every direction, as if the vessel had scrambled gravity, instead of just letting them all go.

  He gunned the tug’s engine and did a barrel roll between the two towers just as the sky bridge between them collapsed and they crashed into each other. Pieces of the Moon and human cities pounded against the tug’s exterior. Nevertheless, Jake could tell they were moving. They were free!

  A moment later they came out of the debris field, and Jake was shocked to discover that they were above London. A giant statue of Buddha had decapitated Big Ben, and the London Eye toppled toward him as he kept the throttle maxed out, hauling the tug out of the ship’s gravity.

  “Hold on!” he bellowed, and everyone else screamed, too, like they were on some crazy roller coaster as they shot under the falling wheel and breasted a huge wave of spray from the Thames. Jake turned away from the river, heading southwest over the city, at last free of the alien ship.

  Hey, he thought. Turns out I was right. We actually are headed for Area 51.

  Pushing maximum speed for the thick atmosphere at sea level, Jake rocketed across the Atlantic Ocean toward the east coast of the United States. Above them, the alien ship stopped its descent. Huge landing petals, each one a hundred miles long, began unfolding from its underbelly and descending toward the surface. It was awe-inspiring, and also freaking terrifying, and Jake couldn’t wait to get out from under the ship and see the sun again.

  Behind him he heard Catherine crying.

  “Are you okay?” David asked.

  “My mother lives in London,” she said quietly through her tears.

  David was silent for a moment. “Maybe she made it out,” he said, even though none of them believed it.

  His phone rang. Frowning, David answered it.

  “Dad! Where are you?”

  * * *

  As soon as David answered, Julius started right in.

  “David! This is definitely bigger than the last one!”

  “You can see it?” David’s voice crackled through a bad connection. “Where are you?”

  “On my boat, where else?” What was he going to be doing? Selling books? Going to fancy anniversary celebrations? No. And not catching fish, either.

  He’d gone out on the boat to avoid people and catch fish, but he had only managed one of those things. At least he’d been by himself, but even the pleasure of solitude was ruined when he turned on the radio. Every station he could get was broadcasting the big shindig in Washington.

  “The world has turned today’s twentieth anniversary memorial into a victory celebration,” a radio announcer had said, going on and on as Julius Levinson floated in the Gulf of Mexico off the Texas coast. He was irritated, and not just at the guy on the radio.

  At his son who never called.

  At the people who never bought his books.

  At the fish who never bit.

  “And what a day for it,” the announcer added. “All weekend we’re looking at blue skies for most of the Gulf.” Julius cast again, and retrieved. Behind him in the cabin sat boxes of his book. He carried them everywhere he went.

  “That verkackte celebration!” he shouted at the fish who weren’t biting. “You know that they didn’t invite me? Me! My son just saved the world. Twice! And that’s the thanks I get.” He quieted down before he went on, feeling a little self-conscious about yelling, even though there was no one to hear him. “Instead I’m here talking to fish. They never bite. If I want fish, I have to go to the fish store.”

  * * *

  An hour or so later he’d changed the station, not wanting to hear anything more about the celebration. He’d also given up on fishing and was in his cabin frying a steak on the small stove. Maybe it jinxed him, bringing so much extra food on a fishing trip, but it was sure as hell better than being hungry.

  The radio crackled in the middle of a song that had been popular when Julius was younger than David. Must be a storm somewhere, Julius thought, remembering the weather report from a while ago. “Schmucks can’t even get the weather right!” he groused as he saw dark clouds through the cabin window, distant in the east.

  Stepping out of the cabin to get a better view, Julius understood right away that there had been nothing wrong with the weather forecast. The clouds were full of fire, roiling as something immense, spanning much of the horizon, moved within.

  “That’s not bad weather,” Julius said out loud. He’d seen it before. “I have to call my David.”

  But first he got the boat moving.

  * * *

  “Listen to me,” David said when Julius caught him up. His voice was deformed and wobbly, almost robotic from the interference. “You have to get to shore as fast as you can—Dad?”

  “I’m here!” But the cell connection failed. Julius shouted into the phone for another minute, then gave up.

  Looking back over his shoulder toward the alien ship, he watched the landing foot extend, unfolding out and down, wider than… he didn’t know. Bigger than anything he’d ever seen. Miles wide. When it hit the water, the wave it created looked like it could crest over the Eiffel Tower. Julius kept the throttle rammed all the way open. He didn’t know how fast the wave was moving, but it was faster than he was. He had to try to ride it out somehow and hope he could drift down the back, instead of getting caught inside of it when it finally broke over land.

  He buckled himself into his fishing chair as a nearby oil rig bent and tore apart. Farther away a tanker disappeared into the wall of water.

  Julius somehow made it to the top of the wave, riding incredibly high. There were buildings approaching. How long had he been doing this? He’d lost track of time. It was hell being an old man.

  Still riding the wave, the boat surged through the first rank of high rises. The buildings flashed by on either side, one of them so close Julius felt as if he could have snatched a takeout menu from one of the windows slipping by.

  What city was this even? He didn’t recognize it, and he didn’t have time to figure it out, because after that first near miss Julius wasn’t so lucky the second time.

  * * *

  Isaacs went looking for Okun, to give him the terrible news about the reappearance of the aliens—although he had a sense that Brakish’s recovery might be related to it. The contact he’d experienced clearly still affected him, and no one knew what the long-term consequences might be.

  He turned and stepped into Brakish’s room.

  “Oh no,” he said. Brakish was
gone. The walls—every inch of them—were covered in scrawled alien symbols.

  Isaacs spun and ran out of the room.

  If Brakish was at all in possession of his faculties, there was only one place he would be going. His lab. And if he was again under control of the aliens, he would be headed the same direction, because the alien-research lab was attached to the prison wing. Isaacs had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he had to stay focused on the one good thing.

  Brakish was back. Nothing was going to take him away again.

  * * *

  General Adams saluted as Patricia, her father, and Agent Travis disembarked from the C-130 in the middle of a dust storm.

  “Glad to have you back, Mr. President,” Adams said. “It’s been far too long.” Despite his words, his expression spoke volumes as he stared at the haunted, unkempt man who stood before him. When last they’d faced such a situation, a younger Thomas Whitmore had been the strong leader during the War of ’96.

  “Is David here?” Whitmore asked.

  “Not yet. Morrison’s tug is ten minutes out.”

  “As soon as they land have them meet us at the prison,” Whitmore said. To Patricia he sounded more focused than he had in years. “We need to interrogate one.”

  That worried her. What exactly did he have planned? The last contact he’d had with an alien had scarred him for two decades, and he’d never recovered. What would happen if it occurred again?

  * * *

  Legacy Squadron made reentry just east of the alien ship and shot across the North Atlantic until they reached the New England coast. Around them, the massive landing petals unfolded and drove themselves deep into the Earth’s crust.

  “All aircraft within the sound of my voice,” General Adams said over the open frequency. “We’ve lost most of Asia and Europe, and the devastation in our capital is beyond imagination.”

  “My mom is in D.C.,” Dylan said.

  Adams hadn’t heard him. “The rally point for all functioning military forces is Area 51,” he went on—then interference cut the signal.

  “Rain, take the lead,” Dylan said. “I’ll meet you there.”

  The rest of the squadron thundered on west as Dylan’s fighter banked to the south. He’d already lost his father, and then his stepfather. He wasn’t going to lose his mother, too.

  * * *

  They heard the aliens before they could see the prison cells. The shrieks and screeching sounded all the way down the hall, and grew in intensity as they got closer.

  God, Patricia thought. What could make them do that?

  It had to be the ship. Somehow, they had to know.

  When they reached the monitor station at the entrance to the prison wing, the techs were all staring at their screens, unsure what to do. Patricia was shocked to see Brakish Okun there, too, awake after twenty years. He was wearing nothing but a johnny gown, and he’d forgotten to tie the back.

  “Why are they screaming?” she asked, trying to stay focused on what was important.

  “They’re not screaming,” Okun said, his eyes alight with discovery. He seemed completely himself again, and entirely unaware that he wasn’t quite decent.

  “They’re celebrating.”

  34

  Jasmine got to the roof with the new mother and her baby—who is doing just fine, thank you very much—just in time to see the last rescue helicopter taking off.

  They stared at it receding into the distance, and then they saw one of the vast ship’s landing feet plunging down toward the ground. When it punched into the earth, it was as if an earthquake had struck the hospital. A wave of debris crashed against the lower floors and Jasmine was knocked flat. She glanced over at the mother and baby, and saw that they were all right. The mother was exhausted, of course, but she was still running on the adrenaline of the delivery—and panic.

  And if she was panicked, she had good reason.

  Jasmine scanned the damage to the hospital, and realized there was no way for them to get off the roof. That was it. She had tried, but at long last she was losing hope. She didn’t know whether Dylan was dead or alive, and she didn’t think she was going to live much longer, once the alien ship decided it was time to start destroying cities again.

  She caught the young mother’s eye, and saw her silently pleading for Jasmine to say something—anything that would give her a reason to believe. She had just given birth, and she was desperate to know that her baby wasn’t going to die.

  But Jasmine couldn’t do it. There was nothing she could say.

  * * *

  Dylan’s fighter screamed over the hospital, where he saw his mother with another woman—carrying a baby?

  All right, he thought. This was going to be tricky. He banked over to the White House, where evac choppers were loading up and taking off. As one of the choppers lifted off, Dylan hailed him on an emergency frequency.

  “I have bodies on the hospital roof that need immediate evac!”

  “Negative,” the pilot answered. “We were given orders to—”

  “I don’t give a shit about your orders!” Dylan brought the fighter around in a tight turn. “Pick up those civilians, or I’ll shoot you down myself!”

  * * *

  As the alien ship’s landing leg settled deeper into the ground, it pushed more debris into the bottom floors of the hospital. The entire building started to buckle and the roof tilted. Jasmine and the young mother crouched down and held on for dear life.

  “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?” the young woman said.

  “Look at me,” Jasmine said. The woman did. “We’re not gonna die. Do you hear me? We’re not gonna die.”

  A jet screamed overhead, and she winced. Was an attack coming? The hospital wouldn’t survive it, and neither would they.

  Following the jet came a Marine helicopter. It swung low, and a Marine leaned out of the open fuselage door, extending his hand.

  “Let’s go!” Jasmine shouted over the rotor wash. She helped the woman and her baby safely into the chopper. Then something occurred to her. Was that the same jet that had just flown over a minute ago? She looked up, and recognized the decals on its nose.

  Dylan. Jasmine smiled in joy and relief. She smiled up at him, and was sure that he had seen her. The Marine got the mother and baby settled and reached back for Jasmine.

  He missed her hand by inches.

  The entire hospital complex collapsed.

  * * *

  “Noooooo!” Dylan screamed into his mic as the debris wave plowed the hospital under, and his mother was lost in the churning rubble. He brought the fighter around in a screaming turn. “No, no, no…”

  The entire complex was an unrecognizable mass of debris. Fires were already burning inside it. The Marine chopper was hailing him, telling him they had all survivors on board and were withdrawing to Andrews to transfer them. Dylan didn’t answer.

  He made one more pass over the wreckage, and then he turned the fighter west. As he completed the turn, he took a good long look at the alien ship, and swore to himself he would see the aliens dead. He had tried to save his mother, and couldn’t. But he would avenge her.

  It was less than a minute later when the landing petal from the alien ship extended hooks to brace the ship’s incalculable weight, and one of them obliterated the White House and everyone still in it.

  * * *

  Patricia stared at the alien prisoners shown on the monitors. General Adams stood with her, Agent Travis and Okun just behind them. All were mesmerized by the creatures.

  “Patricia, our chamber contains their telepathy,” Adams explained, seeking to reassure her. “Limiting their effect on our minds.”

  Yet what her father wanted to do would place him on the other side of those screens.

  “Sir, you can’t send someone in there with one of those things,” she said. Whitmore wanted to interrogate one of them, but how could that be done without risking permanent damage, or worse. How dangerous would they be whe
n they were so agitated?

  “She’s right,” Lieutenant Ritter said. “Their biometrics are off the charts.”

  “So we double the sedative gas,” Adams proposed. “We’re not going to sit around here and watch the world go down in flames.”

  Suddenly an alarm went off on the monitor console. Instantly a tech scanned the readouts, hitting a button that stopped the strident sound.

  “Sir,” he said, sounding as if he couldn’t believe his own words, “one of the prison cells is docking with the chamber.”

  Patricia looked around, and a pang of fear struck her.

  “Where’s my dad?”

  “He went in there,” Okun said. He pointed at an open doorway. It led into an isolation chamber where aliens could be brought individually for examination. It could be sealed on both sides.

  Led by Patricia, they rushed into the chamber, and discovered that Whitmore had already locked himself inside its docking compartment. He was standing at a control panel, and had brought one of the modular cells over to lock onto the other side. If he opened the mating doorway, he would be alone in there with one of the aliens.

  Patricia banged at the thick glass as General Adams demanded answers from the staff.

  “Who the hell let him in there?”

  “Dad!” Patricia shouted through the glass. “It’s too dangerous!”

  He looked at her, fully present and committed.

  “It’s the only way we stand a chance.”

  She turned to Adams. “We need to get him out of there!”

  Adams in turn looked to Ritter, who was working at the console that controlled the isolation chamber’s remote arm and locking mechanisms.

  “He overrode the system,” Ritter said.

  Agent Travis stood next to Patricia. “Sir,” he said loudly, “please unlock the door.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Whitmore said. “Just get as many answers as you can.” There was a flash of the old Tom Whitmore there as he hit a button, triggering the gas system. The thick cloud of sedative gas flooded the room, obscuring their vision, and from the far side Patricia heard the hiss of the cell door opening.