Godzilla: The Official Movie Novelization

EIGHTEEN

The missile train rolled past mile after mile of devastated scenery, heading west toward California. Trampled towns, farms, factories, and strip malls could be glimpsed from the train as it whipped past them at more than one hundred miles per hour. A drive-in movie theater screen hung in tatters. A used-car lot had been transformed into a junkyard.

Ford tried not to let the apocalyptic landscapes distract him. He had a job to do and it couldn’t wait until the train reached its eventual destination, which he gathered was further west, toward the coast. Along with other EODs and a handful of nuclear tech specialists, they had to perform crucial modifications on the missiles and their warheads en route.

Easier said than done.

Working together, he and Tre unhinged the heavy nose cone of a massive ICBM and carefully laid it down on the vibrating bed of the flatbed freight car. Each missile was nearly sixty feet long and weighed close to eighty tons. The rattling of the train added to the challenge, especially when it took a curve, but they succeeded in gaining access to the trunk-sized warhead at the missile’s tip. The actual fusion device was packed into a targeted re-entry vehicle, which was connected to an intricate assemblage of sophisticated wires, dials, and electrodes. These electronics were located directly under the missile’s payload and above the first- and second-stage rockets.

“Easy there, cowboy,” Ford said to Tre.

Ford was already sweating beneath his helmet and fatigues. He had worked on plenty of bombs before and had been trained in manipulating nuclear devices, but he’d never actually handled a nuclear missile. He was acutely aware that the warhead had the explosive power of three hundred thousand tons of TNT. He had to be very careful.

Holding his breath, he uncoupled the electronics from the base of the payload before cautiously removing the entire mechanism. Tre passed Ford a mechanical replacement detonator.

“I thought these things all ran by remote control,” Tre said.

“The MUTOs fry out everything electronic,” Ford explained. “You can’t even get in range without stuff going haywire.” He patted the new detonator. “This, on the other hand, is old-school clockwork.”

The replacement mechanism was all gears and springs, with no electrical components. Ford was impressed by the simplicity of the design. Even the crude roadside bombs he’d disarmed in Afghanistan had been more high-tech. This detonator was bare-bones by comparison. Gears, dials, and a high-torsion mainspring controlled the timing mechanism.

“Takes a lickin’, keeps on tickin’,” Tre grinned at Ford. “See how the bastards like us now.”

He looked away from the missile long enough to spot something off to one side of the tracks. A stunned expression came over his face. “Jesus…”

Ford lifted his eyes from his work to see what the other man was looking at. A veil of trees cleared to reveal a rural highway crammed with bumper-to-bumper traffic for miles on end. Uncertain where safety lay, the confused and panicked refugees were stalled in both directions. Every lane had come to a standstill; unmoving vehicles were packed with displaced civilians fleeing the destruction behind them. Many of the people had gotten out of their cars, some standing on the vehicles’ hoods to try to get a better view of just how far ahead the gridlock extended. A desperate exodus was frozen in place.

Ford understood now, more than ever, why they weren’t transporting the ICBMs by road.

Heads turned as the missile train went by. Ford wondered what the stranded refugees thought, seeing car after car of heavy-duty ballistic missiles rumble past them. Borrowing a pair of binoculars from Tre, he checked out the bulging eyes and uneasy expressions of the displaced people watching the train go by. His attention was captured by one poor family stuck inside a station wagon, hastily packed with boxes of precious belongings. A young couple viewed the missiles with obvious worry while their little daughter, who looked about Sam’s age, clutched her teddy bear. The girl gaped at the train with wide eyes.

Ford wondered if she even knew what a nuclear missile was, or what it was capable of.

The train rolled on, leaving the family — and many, many other families — behind. Ford returned the binoculars to Tre and got back to work. He tried to put the little girl out of his mind.

Those warheads weren’t going to retrofit themselves.

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.”

In the CDC aboard the Saratoga, Admiral Stenz had a phone to his ear. And not just any phone: the Red Phone. He nodded solemnly, his voice subdued and respectful. “I understand, sir.”

Serizawa observed the conversation tensely, twisting the stem of his heirloom pocket watch. He knew exactly what was being discussed, and the dreadful consequences of the choices being made. He looked on as Stenz gravely hung up the phone.

The worried scientist wasn’t the only one paying attention. A hush fell over the hectic war room as everyone present waited on the news. Graham was beside Serizawa, wringing her hands anxiously. Captain Hampton stood stiffly at attention. Martinez and the other junior officers looked away from their consoles to see what word would be given.

The admiral nodded his head.

The CDC erupted into flurry of activity. The pregnant stillness of only moments ago gave way to a renewed sense of urgency. Weapons analysts began plotting radial diagrams of concentric circles on the map. The ominous graphics depicted both radioactive fallout patterns and projected casualty figures. Although no one had yet spoken the ghastly words aloud, all involved understood what had just happened.

The order had been given to deploy nuclear arms.

“The president, sir?” Hampton asked finally, compelled to confirm the awful truth.

Stenz nodded. His taciturn face had gone pale. Visibly distressed, he seemed unable to speak for the moment.

Serizawa could not keep silent. “Please don’t do this, Admiral.”

Stenz regarded the troubled scientist thoughtfully. A pained expression hinted at the admiral’s inner conflict.

“Do you have children, doctor?” the admiral said quietly, in a reflective tone. “My father was an ensign on the USS Indianapolis, the cruiser that helped transport the Bomb in ’45.”

Serizawa stiffened, but said nothing.

“He was always very proud of his contribution,” the admiral continued, “but all my life he could never talk about the War.” Anguished eyes met Serizawa’s. “Doctor, I’m a father, too. And I’m sacrificing lives every minute just trying to steer one of these things clear of population centers. There are two more on the way—”

On the map table, dotted lines predicted the three monsters’ probable collision courses. As the lines redrew themselves yet again, Serizawa saw that they were still converging on the coast of North America.

San Francisco Bay, to be exact.

“That’s seven million lives,” Stenz said hoarsely. He pleaded with Serizawa. “So please, just tell me. Will it work? Can they be killed?”

Serizawa did not envy the admiral his dilemma or the awful responsibility that had fallen upon him. He weighed Stenz’s questions carefully and tried to answer as honestly as he could.

“A direct hit?”

“We’re talking dialable yield,” Hampton stressed, joining the discussion. “Megatons, not kilotons. Nothing can survive that blast. Makes the bomb from ’54 look like a firecracker.”

Ah, yes, Serizawa thought ruefully. Progress.

“Will it work, Doctor?” Stenz asked again.

“It could,” the scientist conceded. “But what then?” He indicated the monitors tracking Godzilla. “What if he’s been down there all this time? With no interest in our world, but a part of it, a part of the balance. If we kill him, there’s no telling what may come.”

Stenz listened intently. “Yes? Go on.”

“The MUTOs are stronger in a pair, but maybe not enough. He could defeat them.”

“You’re suggesting we let them meet and duke it out?” the admiral asked, sounding dubious. “Then what? Just hope the big one wins and swims back where he came from? And if he loses, are you willing to bet more lives on that?”

Serizawa wasn’t certain. He was fully aware of how reckless his proposal must sound, as well as the awesome gravity of the decision before them. He considered all the human lives hanging in the balance. At least seven million, as Stenz had observed, and perhaps billions more. Was he truly prepared to trust humanity’s future to a legendary monster?

And ask Stenz to do the same?

He shook his head sadly. “I can only bet my own.”

Stenz nodded, appreciating the scientist’s candor.

“Me, too, Doctor,” he said regretfully. No doubt he had been hoping for a viable alternative to the hellish course of action before him. “That’s why I have no choice.” He turned away from Serizawa to address Martinez. “Execute our evacuation contingencies for San Francisco Bay. And find me a detonation site at least twenty miles from shore. If these things are attracted to our bombs, let’s draw them out and finish this.”

Serizawa wondered if that was truly possible.

Night had fallen on the rugged Sierra Nevada mountains as the train skirted along high wooded ridges. Darkness cloaked the wilderness through which the tracks ran, but evidence of the female MUTO’s destructive migration could still be seen around every curve. Ford and his fellow soldiers spied broken bridges, flattened trees, and suspiciously recent rockslides. The roar of the locomotive drowned out the usual nocturnal sounds you might expect to hear from the woods at this time of night, but Ford suspected that any local wildlife had long since fled from the monstrous invader. As he understood it, the train’s route took it straight through “the heart of darkness”— right past the new MUTO. This was a calculated risk, to say the least, but there had been no quicker overland route.

No wonder he hadn’t seen a single deer or owl yet.

Tre and the other heavily armed soldiers were on high alert. As the train rolled toward a lonely mountain pass, the nerve-jangling din of battle could be heard up ahead, just beyond the next ridge. Tracer fire lit up the night sky. Ford glimpsed brilliant laser dazzlers and felt the thrum of high-tech sonic weapons. Judging from the distant lights and racket, the train was approaching the “front line” of the conflict, which was still going strong. Even with everything the armed forces were dishing out, the MUTO was obviously not down for the count.

What was it going to take to stop these things?

A loud whoosh startled Ford as a fiery red explosion flared above the pass. Air brakes squealed and the train came to a halt right before the entrance to a narrow railway tunnel bored into the granite face of the mountain. The sudden stop threw Ford and other soldiers off-balance, and even the multi-ton missiles shifted unnervingly, if only for a moment.

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 attempting 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.