Chapter 5

Jill stood before the bank of monitors, splitting her attention between a trio of live-feeds showing a pair of chemical-spray-equipped helicopters patrolling the waters just outside the Golden Gate Bridge, a Navy destroyer dropping a picket line of mines across the ship channel, and on a third monitor, a local television newscast, a pretty but wind-blown reporter talking importantly into her microphone.

“As you can see,” she said, indicating the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance behind her, a row of abandoned vehicles disappearing out of frame either side of the screen and assumedly off both ends of the bridge, “the approaches to the bridge have been closed for hours and the vehicles on the spans evacuated by the military. The reasons why are still unclear, as is the reason for all the activity over at Fort Point, including, if our sources are correct, the deployment of high-powered artillery pieces along the western edge of the reserve, which as you know, borders the bay. As for the reports filtering out of the Pentagon about an accident aboard a Los Angeles Class nuclear attack submarine, now purportedly disabled somewhere out in the bay, if this is true, there seems to be a decided lack of rescue operations being mounted.”

The scene cut away to show crowds of people being evacuated into trucks and commandeered buses by the police and National Guard. The reporter continued in a voiceover. “Communities all along the waterfront have been ordered evacuated, including those in the downtown regions and--”

“They’ve spotted him!” cried the Operations Officer. Her fingers flew across the keyboard and the scene of panicked evacuations was replaced by a satellite image of San Francisco Bay. Approaching the bridge from due west was the unmistakable outline of Gojira. It moved sinuously beneath the water, a world-class swimmer two hundred and fifty feet long.

“Start spraying!” Benedek commanded.

The helicopters suddenly banked and headed out to sea. They swooped low over the water, their undercarriages barely clearing the wave tops. Each chopper carried a fifteen-foot-long boom slung either side of the fuselage; from these, red-black liquid sprayed out onto the water, where it lay like a coating of oil atop vinegar.

“Come on, you bastard,” Pike grumbled. “The mines should stop you.” Even as he spoke, the water dead ahead of the helicopters erupted in gouts of frothy water. The helicopters gained altitude and arced around to follow either side of the chain of explosions.

“He’s still headed for the bridge,” Jill cautioned. She tapped the microphone boom next to her mouth. “Aaron? Do you copy?”

Aaron’s reply came back, tinny with distance. “On my way,” he said. His form could just be made out on the monitor showing the bridge; he stood near the soldiers manning an artillery piece.

“Any more inspirational words?” Jill asked into her mike.

Aaron laughed. “How about, ‘It is not strength that always wins/For wit doth strength excel.’ From the Ballad of the Dragon of Wantley.”

Jill and Benedek exchanged a look. “Not bad,” she replied. “Let’s just hope the--”

“The mines are driving him to the surface!” the Operations Officer shouted out.

Onscreen, another half-dozen explosions, leading almost directly beneath the center span of the bridge, chased the two helicopters, frantically laying down more red-black liquid in Gojira’s path. The surfacing creature let out a bellowing roar as they retreated.

“That was close,” one of the pilots said over the link.

“Too damned close!” the other pilot seconded. The copters circled in opposite directions, approaching the creature from the rear.

“Let’s give it to him both barrels,” the first pilot said.

“Roger that.”

The helicopters crisscrossed directly over Gojira’s broad head, dumping the remainders of their loads in a torrent of red-black fluid. Gojira roared--this time in surprise and anger--before diving beneath the waves. Explosions again began to track his movements through the water. Only now, the creature seemed to be dodging right and left, either attempting to throw off his pursuers--a second pair of spray-equipped helicopters--or to rid himself of the red-black liquid.

“It’s working!” Jill exclaimed. “I think it’s actually working!” She watched as Aaron ran to the near railing of the bridge and looked over.

“It sure seems that way,” he said. He looked up suddenly as a self-propelled artillery piece trundled up beside him at the rail.

“We have the order to fire,” one of the soldiers advised him. “You better stand clear, sir.”

“No problem there,” he said, scurrying away from the rail. He looked directly into the camera, trained on the center span of the bridge from atop the command center at Fort Point, then back to the soldier. “Try to keep it in the fluid as long as possible, though. The more contact he has with it, the better.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t just piss him off.”

The artillery man gave him a sidelong glance, then returned to his job. A moment later an orange flash erupted from the howitzer’s mouth. A geyser of water shot up directly over Gojira’s head, followed instantaneously by an explosion. The creature reversed direction and suddenly resurfaced. It cried out, not in a bellow of defiance or rage, but in confusion and pain. It lay directly in the center of a large pool of red-black fluid laid down by the second pair of helicopters. Even as it looked about, one of the helicopters passed directly overhead, giving it a fresh coat of the liquid. Gojira wailed again, scratching desperately at itself with its taloned forepaws.

Aaron, having moved a safe distance along the railing from the artillery piece, said excitedly: “Oh, yeah! The fluid is working. You see that?” He pointed toward the creature. “He’s confused and desperate. Keep laying on the fluid and we can possibly even immobilize him.” Indeed, the fluid seemed to be having a paralyzing effect on the creature. His movements had become jerky and uncoordinated, and his huge jaw snapped open and closed, as though trying to attack an unseen assailant. “Order the helicopters to crisscross him again!” he said urgently.

Too late. Even as the fluid-laden helicopters started in for another run, Gojira let out a bellow of rage and submerged. It made for the depths of the bay, its tail breaking surface and whipping back and forth as it dove toward the bottom.

“Wait a minute,” Jill said, uncertainly. “How deep is the bottom there?”

“In the shipping channel?” The Operations Officer checked a chart. “Maybe three hundred feet. A little more. Why?”

Onscreen, Aaron backed away from the railing. He could be seen scouting the water directly beneath the bridge span, side to side. “This is not good,” he mumbled into his mike. “Officer?” He waved at the gun crew manning the artillery piece fifty feet away. “May you’d better--”

This was as far as he got before Gojira erupted from the water, clinging to the immense support structure at the southern end of the span, almost level with the roadway. It bellowed in rage and began to climb the latticework of cables.

“Aaron!” Jill cried out, gripping the edge of the console nearest her. “Aaron! Aaron, run!”

But Aaron just stood there in shock, gawking as the immense reptilian head rose high over the railing. He looked up and up, until he seemed ready to fall over backward. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered over the open com-link.

“Aaron! Will you get the hell out of there!” Jill shouted angrily. Behind Aaron, the gun crew had taken off, running down the center of the bridge span in a blind panic. Aaron took a step backward, then halted as the creature bellowed again in rage. Then he was bounced three feet into the air as Gojira turned his anger toward the closest thing at hand--the bridge support cables.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” Jill cried miserably. She watched as Gojira wrested the cables supporting the roadway from the main cable slung between the two central towers. “Get out of there. Get out of there, Aaron, please!”

The cables gave way under the enormous strain and snapped free of the creature’s mouth with a twang! Gojira seemed just as surprised as Aaron, who finally found his feet and started running.

“That’s it! That’s it,” Jill whispered into the mic. “Keep yourself moving.” She watched Aaron scramble between the suddenly moving cars, losing, and regaining his footing at each movement caused by the immense beast’s assault on the bridge. More support cables snapped, and the roadway canted sharply as the creature struggled to get one sharply taloned foot, then the other onto the bridge span. Aaron barely missed getting crushed by an eighteen-wheeler with the Goodyear logo emblazoned upon the side as it slid sideways against the steel railing on the east side. Its weight proved too much for the barrier and first the cab, and then the trailer plunged over the side, taking half a dozen other vehicles with it. All fell in awful slow motion toward the water below, raising great waves like belly-flopping divers when they hit.

“It’s going to wreck the bridge,” Benedek said in a strangled voice. “Tell them to open fire. Fire at will. Just be careful not to hit the gun crew.”

Jill spun about; her expression horrified. “They’ll hit Aaron!” She pointed at the monitor, where Aaron could be seen clutching a twisted section of railing where the eighteen-wheeler had gone through. The roadway was pitching up and down violently, making further movement for him impossible. Letting go of the railing meant getting thrown off the bridge.

“He can’t be allowed off that bridge,” Benedek said tightly. “Aaron or no Aaron.”

“But he’s less than fifty feet away!” she cried. “You open up and Aaron doesn’t stand a chance.”

“We’ll have to chance it,” Benedek said. “Tell him to get down. Cover himself as well as he can. I’m ordering the artillery to open fire.”

But even as he said this, Gojira rose high on his haunches and bellowed in rage, straining the entire support structure of the bridge. The roadway buckled in half-a-dozen places, spilling cars and trucks over the sides and through the broken pavement into the water below. Large sections of understructure buckled and support cables near the creature’s location, stressed way beyond their theoretical tolerance began to snap like rubber bands.

“Fire, dammit! Fire!” Benedek yelled.

Artillery along the periphery of the base began to fire and the creature was hit by one, two, three, and then half a dozen high velocity shells. Incredibly, they seemed to have no more effect on him than had the mines, depth charges or torpedoes beforehand. His only reaction was another bellow of rage, followed by a destructive, side-to-side tail-slash that sent dozens of vehicles plummeting off the bridge and caused the snapping of even more cables. Then, inexplicably, as though someone had simply thrown a switch, the great creature gave one final angry bellow, and then its eyes rolled back in their sockets, its head flopped to the side, and the monster pitched forward, smacking down onto the roadway and its litter of cars and trucks. Aaron was thrown around like a rag doll by the impact--in fact, barely missed getting crushed by the right kneecap of the creature as it fell headlong onto the bridge--somehow managing to keep his hold on the torn section of railing.

“Aaron? Aaron, are you all right?” Jill cried frantically.

Over the speakers could be heard the groans of overstressed metal and the snapping of many more cables. All in the command center could see the bridge structure sway, including the immensely tall towers either end of the central span, until eventually, mercifully, the swaying lessened, and the bridge structure stabilized itself. It was a bizarre, almost surrealistic view over the monitors: Gojira, one arm dangling over the side, lying still on the Golden Gate Bridge, its great array of dorsal fins moving slowly up and down. And clutching his section of metal railing near its right knee, a lucky to be alive, Aaron Vaught.

“Did you see that?” he said breathlessly. “Talk about something to tell your kids!”

Jill laughed, then laughed even harder and kept on laughing until she sat down hard in an armchair and began to giggle.

As though unsure how to take this display of emotion, Aaron quipped over the intercom to her, “What a great bridge, huh?”

Jill laughed and laughed and laughed.

TRAVELLER, UTAH

Inside Faith Baptist Church, unusually well-attended with townsfolk this rainy afternoon, Clementine from the diner sat in the front pew, thumbing a worn Bible, while before her, colored light from a huge stained-glass window backlit the minister, Reverend Charles Geary. Gray-haired and distinguished looking--but fire-and-brimstone in his manner-- the reverend bellowed out scripture.