Chapter 9

MANHATTAN - THE WORLD TRADE CENTER

The Apache helicopter swooped and banked, trying to keep up with the Gryphon. The creature soared over the building-tops, chasing Gojira, who scurried along the streets, sometimes on all fours, a mouse chased by a hawk. The Apache broke off as the Gryphon sailed between the twin towers of the World Trade Center. He did a double-take and radioed in: “Base, this is Turnstile One. Have Target Alpha spotted at the base of Tower One; repeat, Target Alpha spotted at the base of Tower One.”

The Gryphon had seen Gojira as well, and had circled back, watchful of a trap being laid by the crouching monster. It completed its reconnaissance and tucked in its wings, preparing to power-dive at its waiting foe. The pilot fell in directly behind it, hoping for a double-play.

“I’m going hot!” he yelled, flipping back the protective covers, and throwing the toggle switches on his armaments panel to their armed positions. His right thumb hovered above the red button on the stick; his index finger hugged the curved trigger, ready to fire the fifty-caliber machine gun slung beneath the nose. The helicopter carried a full complement of air-to-air and air-to-ground missiles. He hoped not to be firing any of them at the one hundred and ten story buildings.

Almost too late, pilot realized his mistake. “Hold on!” he screamed.

The Apache banked hard to starboard and away from the intended trap. The airframe groaned and the turbine engine yowled as the craft fought for altitude and speed. The pilot sensed, rather than saw, the immense open jaws of the crouching beast flashing past beneath him. What both the Gryphon and he had mistaken for Gojira was in actuality the reflection of Gojira, as it waited to spring from behind the bulk of the South Tower. He looked back in time to see the Gryphon, caught by the ruse, flailing in the grasp of the larger monster.

“Did you see that?” he yelled. He gave a loud whoop that was as much pure relief as a war-cry. He continued in his bank around the huge building and got back in time to see the grappling, staggering creatures smash into the facade of the North Tower, crumpling structural columns and making the tower sway noticeably. “Uh-oh,” he said. “Base? Alpha One and Alpha Two are in danger of taking out Tower One. I repeat, Alpha One and Alpha Two are in danger of taking out Tower One. Do you copy?”

“Copy, Turnstile One. Take no action unless destruction of the tower seems imminent.”

“Imminent?” the pilot repeated. The flailing creatures had again struck the damaged building, the fore-claws of the Gryphon gripping for purchase at the tower’s southeast corner, ripping away facade, window elements, even the underlying steel at around the twentieth level. Huge sections of torn columns and interlocking structural beams rained down on the plaza. Incredibly, the concrete of the plaza itself was beginning to buckle; as the pilot watched, one of Gojira’s huge taloned feet stomped down beside the bronze globe on the east side of the plaza and knocked it loose from its pedestal. It surreally rolled away, imperfections in its surface making it wobble, almost comically. The battling creatures hit the building again.

“Base? I don’t think--” He never got to complete his thought because at that moment, the southeast corner of the building gave way. There was a moment when the entire upper four-fifths of the building leaned toward the buildings across Church Street from it, then it partially righted itself as the entire structure began to pancake downward from the point of the damage.

The pilot swung his aircraft away from the developing dust cloud, yelling unintelligibly as millions of tons of concrete, steel, glass, and aluminum sheathing began to pile-drive into the lower floors of the structure. The two monsters were caught in the collapse, crushed beneath the immense weight of the falling steel, disappearing into the billowing dust cloud as completely as the surrounding buildings. In ten seconds, it was all over, fifteen at the most. The pilot heard the staccato impact of floor after floor pounding itself into non-existence and then it was eerily quiet, the dust cloud rushing away from the site in every direction, obscuring the entire lower half of the island.

“Oh, my God!” he continually repeated.

“Turnstile One? Turnstile One, do you copy?”

The pilot fought for control. He croaked, “This is Turnstile One. The building ... it just collapsed. Gone. Kaput. Over.”

“Understood, Turnstile One. Building collapsed. Do you have sighting on the quarry?”

The pilot was incredulous. “Repeat that, control: Do I have what?”

The voice in his earphones came in a calm, measured beat. “Do-you-have-the-quarry-in-sight?”

The pilot shook his head. Who was this fool? He couldn’t see anything down there. “Uh, negative control. No visibility through the dust cloud. Will have to wait until it settles down a bit.”

“Negative that!” came the reply. “Go to infrared and initiate search pattern Zebra. We must know if Alpha One or Alpha Two has survived. Do you copy?”

This guy really was an asshole, the pilot thought. Half of New York City’s most recognizable landmark had just bitten the dust--literally--and this moron ... wait ... was something moving down there?

“One moment, control. I think I see something.” He brought the Apache around in a tight arc and shot west to east across the site, skimming the top of the still-impenetrable cloud of concrete particles and ash. He could make out the glow of fires raging in the buildings formerly at the base of the North Tower. And something else.

He got out the word “I--” and then yanked hard right on his stick as something huge and ungainly went airborne just ahead of him. He saw the wingtip rise up past the tips of his rotors--maybe even clip them--and then he was rolling right and out of the way of the flapping beast.

“Alpha Two has survived! Alpha Two has survived!” he cried frantically. He watched over his left shoulder as the grime-covered beast, lumbering and almost too stunned to fly, slowly rose above the dust cloud, and strengthened its wingbeats. It gave a tentative cry of victory, then one of triumph, and climbing, began to circle the site. Against orders, the helicopter pilot withdrew to a safe distance.

“Can even Godzilla beat that thing?” Admiral Benedek wanted to know. He stood alongside Aaron and Nelson Fleer at the edge of the tent, watching the dust cloud slowly thin ... and the circling Gryphon. Behind them, Robert Pike berated the helicopter pilot over the radio.

“Do you think it survived?” Fleer asked. “Godzilla, I mean?”

Aaron shook his head. He had no more idea of that than did Fleer. But why...?

“Why doesn’t it use its fire?” he asked.

Fleer has spotted something moving across the water. “Why don’t you ask it yourself?” he said, nodding toward the movement in the dust. A dazed but still functioning Gojira arose from the dust cloud, slowly scanned back and forth for its quarry. Aaron could see it blinking to clear its eyes; it scraped a thick coating of dust from its snout. It looked up suddenly and caught sight of the circling Gryphon. It roared; the bat-lion screeched back.

“Here we go,” Fleer advised.

The Gryphon tucked its wings and came in for a pass. The now familiar blue flame danced across the bony ridges of the wing’s leading edges and a powerful bolt of blue-white energy struck Gojira right in the chest, propelling him backward and off his feet. He again disappeared into the dust cloud.

“Damn it!” Aaron exclaimed. “Why doesn’t he use his fire? One good blast of flame could ignite that thing like a Fourth-of-July rocket! What am I missing here?”

Suddenly, the not-so-stunned Gojira burst from of the cloud and made a grab for the swooping Gryphon. It caught one of the creature’s wings, but not in the right place and not with a good grip. The Gryphon screeched and raked its attacking foe across the snout with it massive forepaws and Gojira dropped away, roaring. The Gryphon flapped madly, backpedaling in the air, screeching defiantly as it raked its grounded foe with the talons on its hind-claws. When it gained sufficient altitude, it swooped away, out of Gojira’s reach, screeching triumphantly. Gojira bellowed with rage.

“It’s the restraining device,” Aaron said, almost to himself. Then, aware that it wasn’t just a supposition, but the only logical explanation, he yelled it aloud.

Admiral Benedek jumped. “What? What did you say?”

“The collar! We’ve got to get it off him! It’s keeping Godzilla from using his fire! Hell, it’s probably--”

There was another flash of blue-white light and Gojira was driven backward against the base of the South Tower. The giant building swayed--yawed, Aaron thought dazedly--then settled back slowly to its normal position. Gojira, whether faking or hurt for real this time, sank beneath the level of the obscuring dust cloud, until only its head remained above. Then, as though losing consciousness, its great head lolled to one side.

“We’ve got to do something,” Aaron said. He watched the Gryphon circle the South Tower about halfway up, wary, but sure to grow bolder.

“Do what?” demanded Pike, coming over to join them. “I thought the whole point was to kill the damned things. And if one kills off the other, that’s one less that we have to worry about.”

Aaron turned on him. “You don’t get it, do you? We’ve got nothing to fear from Godzilla. He was specifically designed to combat this creature.”

Pike was incredulous. “Are you crazy? Look at what it’s done!”

Aaron turned away dismissively. “Admiral, we’ve got to get that thing off him.”

Benedek looked across the water at the giant injured reptile, pressed his lips together until they formed a thin line, and then decided. “How?”

Pike started to object; Benedek cut him off. “My command, Mr. Pike, remember? How?” he asked again of Aaron.

This was where Aaron ran out of answers. “Um...” he said, noting the smug expression on Pike’s face. He would get no help from that direction. Then from behind him, Fleer spoke up. “C-4. Plastic explosive.”

Aaron looked quickly from Fleer to the Admiral. “Would that work? How would we plant it?”

“We?” Fleer interjected.

“We,” Aaron confirmed, casting Fleer a questioning look.

Fleer shrugged. “No amount of money is worth this.” He looked out across the water. Gojira hadn’t stirred and the giant bat-lion had settled atop the South Tower, as though inspecting his domain. “We’ll need a helicopter,” he said. “And some damned good luck.”

GREENWICH VILLAGE - BLEEKER STREET

“Mom?” Tina’s voice was shaky, as could be expected. As the monstrous dust cloud had rolled toward them up the street, they had ducked into the doorway of an Ethiopian grocers, then gone through the unexpectedly open door into the interior of the deserted store. Even now, neither could believe that half the Twin Towers no longer stood. “Are we gonna be okay?”

Jill clutched Tina to her side. “Of course, we are,” she said, although secretly, she had no such confidence. If the brawling animals didn’t kill them outright, either by stomping on them or by collapsing a building on their heads, the collateral damage--such as the horrible dust cloud--might just get them.

Jill raised her cell phone and tried the number to the base. All circuits were still busy. “Dammit,” she said. She looked futilely around the store, at the aisles of useless canned goods, brightly colored packages, and other ethnic offerings, then out the front window. Through the settling dust cloud, the window of an electronics shop across the street could just be seen. Incredibly, the plate glass window was intact.

“Wait a minute,” she said. Taking Tina by the hand, she led her back out the front door and across the street, both holding their hands over their mouths but still coughing from the dust. She had no luck with the front door this time: it was locked.

She looked around and spied a discarded tire iron on the sidewalk. She bent to pick it up, hesitated at the sight of blood and a clump of black hair on the ratchet end; it had been used as a bludgeon. Regardless, it had to be done. She grabbed the tire iron and hurled the bent piece of steel at the front window. It flew through, the shattered window collapsing in jigsaw sized pieces.

“Way to go, Mom!” Tina cried delightedly.

Feeling both exalted and abashed by what she’d just done, Jill stepped through the missing storefront, and hurried to the front counter. She saw what she wanted immediately. Beneath the glass of the counter was a Cobra, handheld CB transceiver.

Expecting the glass counter was as well locked up as the front door had been, Jill returned to the front of the store, retrieved the tire iron from a pile of broken glass, then smashed out the counter glass with one hard blow. She reached in and snatched up the transceiver, ignoring her daughter’s giggles.

“My Mom, smash and grab artiste. Love it.”

“Shut up,” her mother countered, grinning. “I have a call to make.”

With Tina’s assistance, she loaded eight AA batteries into the rear compartment, extended the antenna, switched to the broadcast frequency she knew the base monitored, and depressed the talk-lever.

“This is Dr. Jill Llewellyn. Responder Code: Alpha-seven-alpha-echo-water. Does anybody hear me?”

She was answered only by static, then a faint voice replied: “Base security. Give me your voice print log-in, Doctor.”

With a sheepish grin, Jill began to recite: “Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow--”

“Oh, Mom!” Tina rolled her eyes.

“--and everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go.”

After a moment’s pause, the voice came back: “I’m putting you through to Admiral Benedek, Doctor. One moment, please.”

Jill waited, listening for sounds of the battling behemoth’s and wondering why she heard none.

“Where are you?” Benedek’s voice asked.

“Greenwich Village. Bleecker Street, just east of MacDougal. Tina is with me, and we need a ride out of here. Preferably in a battleship, Admiral.”

Benedek, his voice fading in and out, came back: “--do it. Only helicopters we’re ... the air now is additional ... to cover Aaron Vaught. You’ll have to ... put. Find a subway and go under...”

Jill had heard enough to be alarmed. “What is Aaron doing?”

The connection had strengthened somewhat. “He’s trying to get the restraining device off Godzilla. He thinks its keeping Godzilla from beating the Gryphon. What do you think, Jill?”

Jill had already come to that conclusion. “He’s right. You need to give him all the assistance you possibly can.” Then, suddenly adding two and two together--the sudden cessation of battle sounds and the fact that Aaron intended to approach the creature--she exclaimed: “Is Godzilla out of the fight?”

“For the moment,” Benedek confirmed. “We’re hoping to remedy that.”

“Where’s the Gryphon?” she asked.

Benedek laughed bitterly. “Look out your window and see.”

Jill spun and spotted the winged nightmare sitting atop the remaining tower of the World Trade Center, for all the world like a buzzard on a high branch contemplating its next meal. “Son of a bitch,” she growled. Then she got an idea.

She collapsed the antenna, grabbed her daughter by the hand and dragged her outside, headed back to MacDougal Street, where she turned south.

“Mom?” Tina pointed in the opposite direction, her voice growing strident. “Shouldn’t we be headed there?”

“Yes,” Jill said, her voice tense but full of determination, “But we aren’t.”

Two Apache attack helicopters provided escort for the Blackhawk transporting Aaron, Fleer and a munitions expert across the water. They came in low, skimming the wave tops, cutting across Battery Park so as not to call undo attention to themselves. The Gryphon still rested atop the South Tower, for the moment its attention divided between its adversary at the base, and the once-again circling Apache gunship, Turnstile One. But there was no telling how long it would continue to do so, and Aaron didn’t want to become the giant bat-lion’s next target.

Fleer asked, “Ever repel before?” He had just donned a climbing harness and was adjusting the shoulder straps.

“Once,” Aaron said, uncertainly. “If you count a practice session at a Wilderness Extreme store.”