Authors: Marc Cerasini
A few weeks before, Flynn had casually run by to check her out up close. He was delighted to see she wasn't wearing a wedding ring.
A week later, Flynn spotted her again. This time she was getting out of her car, a late-model Infiniti. He memorized the license number, then tapped a friend in the traffic division to run her plates. It was unethical and an abuse of his authority.
But sometimes you've got to bend the rules if you want something...
And Flynn had never wanted anything more in his life. It was love at first sight.
Her name was Annabel Maguire. No prior convictions, not even a parking ticket. She lived in Pacific Heights and worked at an advertising firm. Best of all, she was recently divorced.
Flynn realized that dating her would be a stretch on his paltry patrolman's salary, but he didn't let that deter him. Last Sunday, while still unsure of how to use the information he had on the attractive woman, a lucky accident occurred.
Or maybe it was fate
, Flynn reckoned.
As he jogged past her, a stiff wind kicked up and blew some of her notebook pages across the beach.
Like a perfect gentleman, Flynn had helped her retrieve the errant papers. Then he struck up a conversation. Though things were awkward at first, the chat soon became more relaxed. But just when things were getting good, she had claimed an early lunch date with a friend and left - without giving him her name or phone number.
Divorced and gun-shy
, Flynn concluded.
But he was not without hope. Flynn
did
notice that the young Woman liked croissants from Andre's, a bakery on the edge of the Embarcadero. He had spotted a half-eaten pastry on the bench next to her, and the bag sticking out of her purse.
Now, armed with an extra thermos of coffee, another of tea, and a bag of Andre's French pastries, Flynn was prepared to lure the lovely Annabel Maguire into conversation once again.
As he jogged past the parking area, he noticed her cherry-red Infiniti in the lot. It was parked only a few cars down from his Honda.
How convenient
, he thought gratefully.
But when Flynn scanned the beach, he didn't see her anywhere.
She must still be running
, he thought.
But sooner or later, she has to come back for her car.
Flynn planned to wait all day, if necessary.
His run completed, Flynn grabbed a towel and a clean sweatshirt from the trunk of his car. Then he went over to a public shower and ran some water on his face to freshen up. It was icy cold on the shore, and the water coming from the pipes was even colder.
As he shook the water off his hands, Flynn noticed that the ground seemed to quiver beneath his feet.
He froze. The earth shook again.
Then he heard a rumbling sound like distant thunder, and the earth shook for a third time. Another jogger, a middle-aged bald man in an expensive running suit, slowed to a stop. When the earth quaked for the fourth time, he bolted off the sand toward the concrete sidewalk.
"Get off the beach," the bald man yelled at Flynn. "The sand turns to quicksand in an earthquake. You'll be swallowed up!"
But Flynn, who'd survived the quake of 1989, instinctively knew that this was no earthquake. Another rumble came, and a flight of seabirds bolted into the misty sky.
It sounds like the footsteps of a giant
, Flynn realized. The young policeman turned and faced the water, searching for the cause of the quaking.
At that moment, the fog began to clear in the middle of the bay. What it revealed made Flynn's mouth drop open and the man cry out behind him.
"I can't believe it..." Flynn murmured.
"It's... it's
Godzilla
." screamed the bald man.
Flynn watched, too stunned to move, as Godzilla waded, hip-deep, in the waters of San Francisco Bay. After a few more rumbling, lurching steps, the gigantic monster looked up into the overcast morning sky and opened his jaws. A second later, the creature's bellowing roar echoed across the water and bounced off the San Francisco skyline.
The creature strode past Alcatraz Island and moved ponderously toward the shore of Oakland on the opposite side of the bay. Earthquake sirens began to wail in the distance. Soon the whole city would be alerted to the danger.
Without hesitation, Flynn pulled on his sweatshirt, grabbed his towel, and raced for the parking lot.
In a city emergency, all San Francisco cops had to report for duty as soon as possible. Flynn guessed that Godzilla's arrival qualified as an emergency.
As he rushed toward his Honda, Flynn passed Annabel's red Infiniti. In the distance, he thought he saw her heading toward her car, but he couldn't stop now. A wave of frustration and regret washed over him. Now he'd have to wait yet another Sunday!
Damn that monster!
he cursed bitterly, mourning his lost opportunity.
* * *
From her vantage point on top of the cliff, Lori watched as Godzilla lurched toward the distant shore. The
kaiju
's mighty legs churned up waves, and his long tail sent great fountains of water high into the morning sky.
In the distance, Godzilla looked like a black shadow, a shadow with bone-white spikes running down his back and glowing, malevolent eyes. The creature moved through the bay, pushing back the water with each massive stride.
You're a magnificent creature
, Lori had to admit.
Like everyone who ever saw Godzilla in the flesh, she felt awe and respect - as well as fear. And as she watched Godzilla lumber ashore, Lori understood why Mothra had led her here.
But what can I possibly do to help?
she wondered.
At that moment, as if in reply, the air around her seemed to come to life. Motes of brilliant hues and sparkling lights like a thousand fireflies twinkled around her. The brilliant particles brushed her skin and caused her whole body to tingle.
Then the overcast sky seemed to open up directly over the Sausalito cliffs. Thick clouds parted over Lori's head, and a column of radiant energy streaked down from the heavens and bathed her in its mystical glow.
Lori slowly raised her eyes and squinted into the radiance. In the center of the sky, where the clouds had parted, Lori saw the most beautiful creature in the universe.
"Mothra..." she whispered, awestruck.
On multicolored wings of gossamer, the gigantic butterfly-like creature Mothra floated in the sky.
Tell them, daughter
, Mothra's voice spoke inside Lori's head.
Tell them that Mothra is not their enemy. Tell them that the great creature who strides ashore below is not their enemy, either...
"But... but Godzilla will kill hundreds," Lori blurted.
In order to save billions...
Mothra whispered into her mind.
"I don't understand," Lori said.
You are my herald
, Mothra sang.
You have heard my song as no other; understood it as none before you. Tell the world that the Destroyer of All Life is coming down from the stars. Tell humanity that their true enemy is the Three-Headed Monster with Wings of Gold.
Then the colors faded, and the column of light disappeared. The clouds high in the sky closed around the gigantic winged creature, and Lori suddenly felt abandoned and alone.
Mothra was gone as abruptly as she had come.
Lori dropped to her knees at the edge of the cliff and began to sob.
How can I convince them?
she raged, pounding the earth.
Who will believe me now?
* * *
At this early hour on a Sunday morning, only sanitation crews and a few shopkeepers were in Jack London Square, a section of Oakland's docks named to honor the city's most famous citizen and the author of
The Call of the Wild
.
London Square ran along the bay and was Oakland's version of San Francisco's more renowned Fisherman's Wharf.
The restaurants and T-shirt shops in the square and in Jack London Village nearby weren't due to open for hours yet. The only vehicle neat the water was a sanitation truck.
The garbage men were lazily loading overflowing bins of garbage into the truck's noisy compactor. Suddenly, one of them looked toward the bay. What he saw nearly turned his hair white.
He slapped his comrade on the shoulder, cried out, and pointed. Then the three men bolted, leaving their truck behind. They ran into the middle of Jack London Village, where a group of pickup trucks and vans filled with fresh produce were unloading and setting up for the Sunday morning farmers' market.
When the vendors spotted Godzilla looming over them, his terrible roar vibrating every object around them, they fled in panic.
Slowly, ponderously, Godzilla's foot rose out of San Francisco Bay and crashed down next to the sanitation truck. The force of the creature's tread was so powerful that the truck bounced on its wheels and tipped over.
Godzilla's gigantic leg looked like the bole of a huge redwood tree. The monster's hide was charcoal black, with brown and gray streaks, and grooved with deep lines. Seawater washed down the deep, pitted grooves in rivulets. The water soaked the pavement, which cracked under the monster's tremendous weight.
As Godzilla thundered past the sanitation truck, his long tail slammed against the vehicle, sending it flying through the air like a toy. Garbage spilled everywhere as the tail pounded against the facade of a pricey restaurant.
Again, Godzilla's tail lashed out, and utterly demolished the brick building that housed a famous Oakland landmark, the First and Last Chance Saloon. The century-old structure collapsed in a cloud of dust and smoke.
Meanwhile, flames leaped from the shattered restaurant. The smell of natural gas filled the air. Suddenly, the gas flowing out of a broken main ignited. An orange fireball rolled into the sky, and flames spread along the seaside district. Sirens began wailing, and two Oakland Fire Department trucks sped around the corner. Godzilla suddenly shifted on his feet, and his tail swiped the first emergency vehicle as it tried to rush by.
The fire truck flipped over, spilling men onto the pavement. Before the emergency crews could flee, Godzilla brushed past another building, raining tons of debris down on the helpless firefighters. Oblivious to his victims, Godzilla moved inland, toward the expensive homes that crowded the Oakland hills.
* * *
Thinking it was just another Sunday morning, Northern Californians awakened and tuned in their radios and televisions, hoping to hear the weather report.
Instead, they found that the local channels were off the air and that the Emergency Broadcast Network had taken over.
Less than five minutes after Godzilla appeared, news of his return was being spread by the wire services. First Reuters, then AP, then the rest. The cable news networks followed quickly.
On INN, Nick Gordon, the host of
Science Sunday
, went on the air with constant updates. An Independent News Network chopper broadcast the first live pictures to a stunned and frightened nation.
Panic spread as the grim reality sunk in. Godzilla had come to America.
Sunday, June 13, 1999, 11:46 A.M.
Project Valkyrie headquarters
Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada
Dr. Markham answered the phone on the first ring.
"Dr. Markham?" a tearful yet defiant voice pleaded from the receiver.
"Lori?" the doctor replied, surprised.
"I want to come home..."
The psychiatrist sighed. "That's not my decision, Lori.
Or
yours," Dr. Markham said after a pause. "It's up to the general."
"I know."
"Where are you now?" Markham asked.
"In San Francisco," Lori said.
Dr. Markham gasped.
How did she know?
she wondered. Yet the psychiatrist should not have been surprised. Not after what she learned in the past few hours.
"I saw it all!" Lori cried. "I knew when and where to be when Godzilla showed up -"
Dr. Markham interrupted her. She wanted to hear what Lori had to say, but not over the phone. She wanted Lori back here, in the base hospital.
"Is the aircraft you took still intact?" Markham demanded.
"Of course! Not a scratch," Lori said defensively. "All I need is some fuel and I can come home."
"All right, Lori," Markham said. "I'll see what I can do. Now, I want you to follow my instructions to the letter..."
Five minutes later, Dr. Markham hung up. Then she gathered up the handwritten notes spread across her desk and headed down the hall to General Taggart's office.
I'm convinced that Lori's not insane, and I've convinced her of that
, the doctor reflected.
Now all I have to do is convince the general
.
Somehow, Dr. Markham thought, fighting
kaiju
would be easier.
* * *
Helicopters hovered in the air around the
Texas Star
. Some were Coast Guard, some United States Navy, some belonged to the press. The latter were being turned away by the military authorities.
The supertanker still listed to one side, and the creature called Varan still lay across her deck, unmoving except for an occasional twitch of its reptilian tail.
Throughout the night, Navy warships had cautiously approached the tanker - quietly and without running lights. The Navy wanted to get their ships close to Varan without frightening the creature back into the sky. Two frigates and a destroyer warily circled the stricken tanker, waiting.
* * *
General Taggart now had two monsters within the continental United States to contend with - and a third in territorial waters.
He'd also lost a member of the G-Force team, and a multimillion-dollar aircraft. Worst of all, the president was still keeping G-Force out of the fight. The last thing General Taggart needed was a visit from the project's headshrinker.
"General," Dr. Markham said as she pushed open his office door, "we need to talk."
"Don't you doctors believe in knocking?" the general barked. Then he dropped his pen on the desk and stared at the woman. "Come in..." he said, relenting.