Greg Cox - Godzilla - The Official Movie Novelization

The relief in her voice hit him right in the gut. He turned his face toward the wall, willing himself to stay composed. He had to be strong for her. God only knew what she had been going through.

“Where are you?” she asked anxiously, her voice catching in her throat. It sounded like she was crying. “I’ve been calling everywhere, are you okay? I can’t believe this is happening—”

“Elle, listen to me.”

“Ford, I’m so scared.”

“Listen to me, I’m coming to get you guys. I’ll be there by dawn, hear me. The military has a plan to get these things, and I’m going to get you out of there.”

He hadn’t always been there for Elle and Sam, he knew that, but this time he would be. They were going to make this work, just like he promised.

“Okay,” she replied. “Please hurry.”

He stared out the window at the waiting train.

“I’ll be at the hospital by sunrise. I’ll get you out in a convoy. Okay?” He fought to keep his voice from cracking. “I’m coming to get you, Elle.”

A train whistle blew, signaling that he had to go. He clung to the phone as hard as he could. He could definitely hear her crying now. They both knew how much was at stake here — and how precarious their future had become. Nobody was safe as long as the monsters were abroad.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.”

She hung on the line, apparently unable to say goodbye, so he hung up for both them. He took a deep breath and wiped the tears from his eyes before heading back outside.

He had a train to catch.

Lugging his gear, he climbed aboard the missile train along with the last remaining troops. He joined Tre on a flatbed car carrying one of the huge ICBMS. Smoke poured from the locomotive’s vents as the train got underway, its wheels rattling upon the metal tracks. Sparks flared beneath the wheels as the soldiers left in the town watched the train depart, carrying its lethal load of nuclear warheads. Ford found himself missing the smoother ride of the transport plane.

Within minutes, they had left the nameless town in the dust.

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.