Chapter 11

Shrieking, the Gryphon pulled up to avoid the cloud-bank, got blasted on the right wing and torso by another burst of Gojira’s flamethrower-breath, lost the tank as it twisted away from the flames, looked up in time to see the Brooklyn Bridge looming up before it, and screaming, flew right into the cables.

“I think maybe we’ve got a break here,” the pilot reported. He had stopped midway across the Upper Bay and was hovering just above the water. He looked at his fuel gauges, decided he wouldn’t run out of fuel just yet, and headed northeast. “Base, Turnstile One is moving in for a better view of the action. Over.”

“Roger, Turnstile One.”

The fog bank had cleared enough to see the Gryphon twisting and turning in the cables. Already, significant damage had been done; the pilot could see jagged breaks in the barriers on the outside of the roadway, and each violent movement flung a car, a truck, or a combination of the two over the side and into the river as the roadway heaved. As he watched, a yawning crack appeared in the tower closest the Brooklyn shoreline, and cables started to snap like overstretched rubber bands. He was about to radio in the damage when Gojira erupted from the water directly before him.

“Whoa!” The pilot banked hard right and just missed being carved in two by one of Gojira’s dorsal fins. The Apache spun out of control for a moment, then righted itself under the pilot’s admittedly luck-guided touch, then was buffeted again by the too-close swipe of Gojira’s tail as the creature mounted the bridge. The pilot backed away south to a safer distance.

“Turnstile One, report!”

The pilot croaked incredulously: “They’re trying to tear down the bridge, base!”

Indeed, the monsters seemed intent on doing just that. Gojira had one foot on the edge of the roadway and the other planted firmly on the massive stone abutment supporting the east tower. It snapped at the Gryphon’s left wing, caught it along with a handful of the massive steel cables, and began yanking them back and forth. The entire bridge structure shook. More cables began to snap. A forty-foot wide by one-hundred-foot-long central section of the roadway crumpled in the middle, began to plummet away into the East River in small, ragged section, taking hundreds of abandoned vehicles with them. The sound of rending, overstressed metal rolled across the water. The pilot was reminded of too many Japanese horror flicks he had watched as a child.

“Base, we’re going to lose this bridge!”

“Roger, Turnstile One. We have four F-15’s incoming your position.”

“What’s their ETA?” The pilot demanded.

“Four minutes, Turnstile One.”

“They’re never going to make it, Base.”

The Gryphon was trying desperately to reach something in the water. The pilot couldn’t make out what. Then he realized it had to be the silver tank the creature had dropped just before hitting the bridge. He wished--just as desperately--for a single Sidewinder missile.

Gojira picked up on its adversary’s struggles as well. It looked down, saw the half-sunk tank floating in the water and, with an almost casual flick of its tail, scooped the device up and sent it sailing end over end back into Manhattan. The Gryphon screamed in frustration; Gojira answered with a triumphant roar. It stopped roaring, however, when it saw the dance of blue-white sparks across the bat-lion’s wings that was the precursor of an energy bolt. It gave its own frustrated roar and snapped at the Gryphon’s throat just as the blue-white flash erupted from the beast into the heavy steel cabling. Both animals began to thrash about wildly.

Effectively electrocuted by the bio-electric discharge, Gojira could not release its grip on the steel cabling. Seeing this, the Gryphon redoubled its efforts and electricity danced and flashed and sparked across the bridge structure like some kid’s high school science project. Gojira released its hold on the Gryphon’s throat and gave a weak blast of super-heated breath that succeeded only in heating the cables directly above him. This was enough. The weakened cables parted and the great beast, no longer supported, tore the remaining cables in its grasp and plummeted into the water. The Apache’s pilot barely avoided the resulting wave.

“Damn, this thing’s gonna get me one way or the other.”

“Repeat, Turnstile One? Your transmission broke up.”

“Nothing Base. Target Alpha has disengaged the bridge. Target Beta is still entangled in the bridge cabling but seems able to extricated himself now that Target Alpha has gone.”

“Is Target Alpha still alive, Turnstile One?”

The pilot scanned the roiling water. He could see nothing that would indicate the target’s presence, but the river was now so churned up and full of sediment from the fight, that Gojira could be lurking just below the surface. He was about to report this when to his south, just off the tip of Manhattan, Gojira reappeared.

“Never mind, Turnstile One. We have target in sight.”

The pilot didn’t bother to answer. He had more pressing things to worry about than Godzilla. The Gryphon, now free of both its adversary and the bridge cabling, launched itself from the roadway--another huge section of concrete, steel and cabling fell away as it did--and beat its wings furiously, screaming as it began to build up another electrical charge. The creature soared by a hundred feet overhead, buffeting the Apache with a near-lethal backwash. The pilot regained control only in time to see the Gryphon plunge down directly atop the stunned and unprepared Gojira. There was an explosion of blue-white light as the two met and then...

... the entire tunnel shook and rumbled. Roof tiles broke loose and clattered down on the pavement all around the small group of refugees. The lights flickered alarmingly, flared with extreme brightness, went out completely for a moment, and then came back on. Throughout the length of the tunnel, yellow warning beacons began to flash.

“What the hell was that?” Aaron croaked, staring up at the ceiling for any observable signs of leakage. He spotted none, but could hear the thick lining of the concrete tube groaning against some unexpected strain.

“Two guesses,” Fleer grunted. “Let’s keep moving.”

The tunnel this side of the wrecked tractor-trailer had been completely devoid of vehicles. They had walked about a quarter-mile, Aaron thought, and were looking at about the same before regaining the surface. The rumbling from the tunnel made him want to cover that distance in the shortest possible amount of time.

“How deep do you think this tunnel is right here?” he asked Jill.

Jill looked startled. “I don’t know.” She looked down the tunnel behind them, then up ahead--the incline was markedly less steep where they stood. “Maybe fifty-sixty feet. Why?”

He didn’t want to say what he was thinking: that the shallower the water where Gojira stood, the less buoyancy it had. It was good that the worst of the rumbling seemed to be coming from well behind them, but it also seemed to be getting louder, and consequently closer.

“I think we should run,” he said.

Gojira had a death-lock on the Gryphon’s neck. The Gryphon flapped furiously, every muscle and tendon straining mightily against its skin, both aggravating the damage caused by Gojira’s powerful jaws, and lifting them both in the process. Since Gojira no longer stood on the bottom--or was anchored by it--he began to lose his grip on the Gryphon’s neck, his great teeth tearing long, bloody gouges in the animal’s hide as the Gryphon screamed and used its fore-claws to tear at the dorsal fins along his spine--to no great effect. Then it raked its immense and dangerous hind-claws down the less armored flesh of Gojira’s belly, and that got a reaction. Howling, the reptile let loose its adversary and plunged back into the water of the Upper Bay, very close now to the shoreline. It stumbled, seemed to lose its footing for a moment, then twisted violently as though trying to free its right foot.

There was a tremendous rumble and the sound of breaking concrete. Aaron, Jill, Tina, and Fleer all came to a halt and, panting noisily, looked back down the tunnel. Two hundred yards distant the tunnel roof collapsed under the weight of some titanic force, and incongruously, one of Gojira’s huge, taloned feet appeared. Water poured in around it, then blocked it completely as the giant unseen monster tore at the tunnel to get himself free. It swept up the tunnel in a giant tidal wave toward their position, almost knocking them off their feet with a sudden onrush of air.

“Run!” Aaron yelled.

Fifty feet ahead was the first of an unending line of stalled cars. Aaron raced toward it, praying the door was unlocked. Reaching it, he tore the Subaru’s driver’s door open and yelled: “Get in! Hurry!” The boiling water, rushing up the tube with rocket-like speed, was about to overtake them.

“Hurry!” he yelled again. Jill dove in, Tina right behind her, followed by Fleer. As Tina struggled over the seat-back into the rear of the car, she began screaming.

“What? What is it?” Aaron yelled, then saw what had caused her panic. The rear window on the passenger’s side was rolled down, the handle just beyond reach of Tina’s desperately clutching hand. He leaned in and pushed her the rest of the way across the seat-back by the back of her pants. If they lived, he’d apologize later. He slammed the door shut just as the leading-edge of the water reached the car and boiled around it.

“Hang on!” he yelled. They were driven forward into the vehicle just ahead, a black and white New York City police cruiser, and the impact threw everyone violently backward, then forward against the dashboard, or in Tina’s case, the front seat-back. “Seat belts! Seat belts!” Aaron yelled, struggling to get his on.

In the rear of the car, water poured in through the still partly opened rear window, nearly drowning Tina, quickly inundating the interior with frigid, turgid water. The immense pressure of the water lifted the rear end of the car, and even as Jill got her seat belt fastened, turned the car over on its roof and began to propel it forward, wheels bumping against the tiles of the tunnel roof. Hanging upside down, Aaron saw a sign rush by outside his side window: ‘NO STOPPING IN THE TUNNEL FOR ANY REASON. DRIVE OUT TO REPAIR ANY FLAT TIRES’. I’ll have to remember that, he thought, crazily. In the meantime, now on her knees on the headliner of the car, Tina had finally gotten the window shut. Water rose mid-thigh, almost up to Aaron’s dangling head. This, he thought, just as crazily, will be something to tell his grandkids.

“Are you all right?” he asked Jill.

Also hanging upside down, the tips of her hair in the water, Jill nodded her accent.

“What about you?” he asked Tina. Shivering, clutching herself across the chest, she nodded also.

“Fleer?”

Fleer sat on the conjunction of roof liner and windshield. “Just dandy,” he said, looking at the water with disgust. He skimmed his hand through the murk. “This the East River were in?”

Both Jill and Aaron laughed. “Afraid so,” Aaron managed.

“I’ve heard such wonderful things about the East River.”

Sighing, Fleer worked himself into a more comfortable position. He had sustained a pretty good whack on the forehead, Aaron saw; already a good-sized lump was growing above his right eye. “What’s next?” he asked.

“We’ll just have to see,” Aaron replied somberly. He looked out into the murk, rather amazed that the tunnel lights were still on. The car rushed by one of the flashing yellow beacons--sideways, he realized--and caromed off the tunnel wall. He saw not even a hint of sunlight ahead.

Suddenly Tina made retching sounds from the back seat. “Is that...?”

Aaron looked back to see the white, blankly staring face of an Indian or Pakistani man pressed hard against the rear window. Just as quickly it was gone, the spinning car propelling it away into the blackness of the surrounding water. Tina covered her mouth with her hands, belching loudly.

“Sorry,” she said, after a moment. “I was just-”

That’s all she managed before bursting into tears. Fleer, the only one in a position to offer comfort, hugged her as well as circumstances would allow. He looked at Aaron with an expression of frustrated acceptance. Their chances, as everyone knew, were pitifully slim. But when his eyes opened wide in alarm, Aaron jerked around to see the broad blue rear end of a Polar Springs bottled water truck looming out of the water directly ahead. A moment later they struck, the front end of the Subaru crumpling, the hood buckling and striking the windshield right in front of the steering wheel and making it star. Immediately the star began to widen, one delicate finger reaching the entire length of the windshield, making an eerie creaking sound as the glass fractured. Then the Subaru was swept sideways by the relentless current, spun about half a dozen times in a vortex before being forced into the narrow space between the side of the truck and the tiled wall of the tunnel.

“Oh, no,” Aaron whispered, grimacing. The impact had torqued the steering wheel down into his lap. He was stuck--worse, he was in pain, his left knee seemingly caught between the steering column and the crumpled left side of the car.

A sound like a gunshot rang out; everyone jumped. Another star had appeared in the rear window, much larger and more dangerous looking than the one in the front windshield. Water seeped in at the center and was steadily growing in strength as the glass began to give way.

“We’ve got to equalize the pressure or it’s going to crush us,” Fleer said. “Everyone--crack your window a bit.”

Everyone did so, water pouring in from three of the four windows. When the water had risen another four inches, Fleer cranked his window shut and helped Jill extricate herself from the seatbelt. “Now you,” he said to Aaron.

Aaron struggled with his seatbelt. “I don’t think I can,” he said, after a moment’s futile effort.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m stuck.”

“What do you mean, you’re stuck?”

Aaron flung aside the useless seatbelt. “I’m stuck, dammit. The wheel has me pinned in.”

On her knees now in the waist deep water, Jill struggled with the wheel, found it immobile. “Is there a release?” she asked. “An adjustment lever?”

Aaron felt around for a lever allowing adjustment in the height and position of the steering wheel. No such lever presented itself. “No,” he said, striking the wheel in frustration. “It’s not there.”

Jill began yanking on the wheel. Fleer leaned over and added his weight to the struggle, and between them, they managed to wrench the wheel down about an inch.

“Can you get out now?” Jill asked.

“No, not yet.” He looked down at the rising water level; the break in the rear window, rather than being stanched by the equalization in pressure, had developed into a wrist-thick torrent of water pouring in. “You have to get out of here,” he warned. “Now, while there’s still time.”

“No!” Jill said, shaking her head violently. “We’re not leaving you here.”

“Don’t be--”

“What about the seat-lever?” Tina cut in.

“The seat-lever?” Aaron groped the side of the seat, then down between his legs when he failed to find it there. “I’ve got it!” he yelled. “Push!”

Jill and Fleer pushed while Tina yanked from the other side. Fleer’s side of the seat moved with a loud Thunk!, but Aaron’s side did nothing.

“Go!” he said in frustration. “Save yourselves!”

Jill spat through clenched teeth: “Don’t be stupid!”

“You, either! Get out.”

“Not without you.”

The water level had risen to the point Aaron had to bend double at the waist, holding himself clear of the water by gripping the steering wheel. He had only seconds left. And then there were none. The rear window imploded as the bumper of another car smashed into it and water poured through the opening. Underwater now, Aaron gestured at Jill to get out. “Please!” he shouted, the sound nothing but a burble. “Go!”

Jill had no choice. With a gesture of futile rage, she slammed her fist against the steering wheel, leaned in close to Aaron and kissed him on the lips. “I’m sorry!” she blurted into the water. And then she was gone.

An instant later, she was back again, gesturing frantically toward the door and Aaron realized that they would all die together, anyway. The Subaru was jammed tight between the tunnel wall and the side of the truck and there was no exit out the rear window--the front end of another car had it blocked.

Aaron, Jill, Tina and Fleer, caught in a deathtrap, exchanged looks, knowing there was no beating this.

Knee-deep in the confluence of the East and the Hudson Rivers, Gojira held the Gryphon underwater, strangling the life out of it. Or so it hoped. For good measure, it opened its mouth, and taking in a huge lungful of air, began a mighty roar. It is cut short when the Gryphon slashed upward with the tip of its left wing, catching Gojira just below the eye socket. The huge reptile had no choice but to let go, or risk being blinded in that eye. It staggered backward, roaring now in futile rage as the Gryphon flung itself skyward out of the water. It had escaped death perhaps, but not the rage of its foe. The super-heated air shimmering between Gojira’s extended jaws burst into a flamethrower’s arrow of death, spearing the Gryphon directly in the chest.

Propelled backward by its own jet of flame, Gojira plunged down its right foot into the muck of the channel bottom to steady itself, continuing to charbroil the fleeing bat-lion, but also collapsing the channel bottom right beneath its foot. It staggered sideways, loosing aim at its target.

Another titanic rumble, this one very close at hand, and a massive surge of water freed whatever vehicle had rear ended them and blocked the rear window. Tina went through first, followed by Fleer, who spun about and grabbed Jill by the back of her shirt. She was pulled bodily from the car. Then Fleer stuck his head back inside the Subaru, gave Aaron a thumbs up, which Aaron returned. Then Fleer was gone.

Left alone inside the trapped car, Aaron found the terror of death gave way to anger, then frustration and then finally to acceptance. He stopped struggling with the wheel, useless really, and contemplated if he should go ahead and inhale the frigid water now and get it over with, or just wait until he could no longer hold his breath. Through the windshield he caught the motions of tiny bubbles escaping the side of the truck; capped but empty water bottles, caught in their racks, slowly giving up their cargo of trapped air. How ironic, he thought, salvation, not twenty feet away. He sighed, mentally.