Greg Cox - Godzilla - The Official Movie Novelization

Slightly further up the track, Ford peered warily into the mouth of the tunnel. Was it just his imagination or could he faintly make out some sort of the movement inside the tunnel? From what he’d gathered, the second MUTO couldn’t possibly fit inside the narrow passage, but something appeared to be heading toward them, surging out of the blackness.

He quickly raised his rife and aimed it at the tunnel. The flashlight beam failed to penetrate the darkness. He started to shout a warning, just as a blast of dust and leaves and forest litter exploded from the tunnel, propelled by a luminous electric pulse. The flying dirt and twigs buffeted Ford, driving him backward. His flashlight instantly shorted out and so did all the lights on the train, car after car. The radio on Tre’s back went dead, too, killing the static. Startled troops shouted in the dark:

“What the hell was that?”

“What happened?”

“Hey, where are the lights?”

But Ford understood. Instinctively, like a child in a lightning storm, he had started counting to himself under his breath.

“…three-one-thousand, four-one-thousand, five-one-thousand…”

A triumphant howl, echoing from the other side of the mountain, cut him off. The din of the nearby battle ceased, so that only the unsettling screeching of the female MUTO could be heard. There were no more bombs or explosions, no tracers or lasers visible beyond the ridge. Brushing the leaves and twigs from his face, Ford realized what the sudden cessation of hostilities meant.

The battle was over — and the MUTO had won.

That same realization was shared by Waltz and the rest of the troops. The frantic shouts trailed off, replaced by a stunned hush that was finally broken by the master sergeant.

“Corporal,” he ordered a nearby communications expert, “get Snake Eyes on the line again. I need to know how close that thing is.”

Ford had already counted that out. “Five miles.”

Waltz turned toward Ford and squinted at him through the dark. It was hard to make out the master sergeant’s features, but Waltz nodded as though impressed. Ford refrained from bragging that this was hardly his first run-in with a MUTO’s electromagnetic pulse. He was practically becoming an old hand at this.

Lucky me , he thought.

“Lieutenant,” Waltz addressed Ford, sizing him up. He gestured at the deep black cavity of the tunnel entrance. “Wanna join us. We’re going in to check that tunnel.”

While the train remained parked outside, Ford, Waltz, Tre and another rifleman, Brubaker, cautiously advanced into the stygian blackness of the tunnel. Fallen leaves and gravel crunched beneath their boots. Spare bulbs, screwed into the flashlights on their rifles, restored a degree of visibility. Incandescent beams penetrated the darkness before them. Ford and Tre took point, leading the way.

The men stop short as they suddenly spied two glowing eyes staring back at them. Ford tightened his grip on his rifle and almost fired until the flashlight beams revealed a lone deer, frozen in terror at what lay beyond the tunnel. In a clatter of hooves, the deer dashed past the soldiers, who jumped out of its way.

How about that? Ford thought, gasping in relief. It took a moment for his heart to stop racing. Guess that fella didn’t get the memo to clear out.

The men moved on until they reached other end of the tunnel. Waltz signaled for alert as he warily stepped out into the open. Ford and the others followed after him, guns at the ready. Ford suspected that the deer had had the right idea, running in the opposite direction.

A long trestle bridge stretched before them, high above a deep gorge carved out by a raging mountain river. Rushing water could be heard, but night and mist hid the bottom of the gorge, as well as the far end of the bridge. The fog made it impossible to tell at a glance if the bridge was still intact all the way across. They would have to check that out and inspect the bridge’s supports as well. They needed to know whether the bridge had been damaged by the recent battle and whether it would still support the missile train.

“Master Sergeant,” Ford said, taking the initiative. “Why don’t you and Brubaker check below?” He nodded at Tre. “Sergeant Morales, you’re with me.”

Waltz approved Ford’s plan of action. He and Brubaker hopped a side-rail and began to carefully descend a steep path down to the rapids below. Ford and Tre watched them vanish into the mist before turning to face the fog-shrouded span ahead of them. Ford glanced around warily, but couldn’t detect any sign of a lurking MUTO. He hoped to God that the monster had moved on after crushing that last wave of troops. He’d already two run-ins with the first MUTO. He could live without encountering the second one as well.

The two men advanced through the fog, discovering obvious signs of damage. Wide gaps stretched between the slats beneath their feet, forcing them to step cautiously. Scorched steel and charred timbers testified that the battle had indeed passed this way. Deep gouges in the tracks looked uncomfortably like claw marks.

A broken slat caught Ford by surprise. Stumbling, he accidentally smacked the barrel of his rifle against an upright safety rail. The impact knocked the flashlight from its holder and it plummeted down through the irregular slats. It spun down into the mist like a falling star.

Damn .

Brubaker jumped as a falling flashlight smacked into the rocky shore of the river, many feet below the bridge. Waltz didn’t blame the young rifleman for being scared, given the circumstances, but the master sergeant’s face remained stern and unmoving. Chances were, either Brody or Morales had just lost their flashlights for some reason. It was annoying, but if that was the biggest snafu they ran into on this mission he’d count himself lucky. All that mattered now was keeping the missile train going, so that the brass got their nukes — before the MUTO did.

Descending to the bottom of the gorge, they reached the riverbed. White water surged over nearby rapids while the rocks beneath their feet had been worn smooth by flooding waters. Waltz turned back to look in the direction of the bridge, whose iron supports were half hidden by the mist, which was even thicker here down by the river. He scowled as he spotted a dim light flickering further upstream, growing brighter by the second.

What the —?

Flaming wreckage, including mangled helicopters, tanks, jeeps, drones and bodies, came rushing over the rapids. Burning fuel and incendiary gel blazed atop the flowing water, spilling onto the narrow shore. Waltz and Brubaker dived for cover to get out of the way of the blazing debris. They scrambled up the slope to get to safety, dodging the fiery remnants of his fellow soldiers’ lost battle.

Something was crashing loudly against the rocks below. Peering over the edge of the bridge, Ford and Tre could make out a red-hot glow through the mist and murk. For a moment, Ford expected to hear the blood-chilling howl of a MUTO but, if this was a monster attack, why weren’t Waltz and Brubaker firing their weapons?

Concerned, he whistled once. A tense moment followed before he heard an answering whistle from below. He let out a sigh of relief, as did Tre. It was good to know that the rest of their team had not run into serious trouble. At least, not yet.

Confident that Waltz and Brubaker did not require immediate reinforcements, Ford and Tre continued to make their way across the battle-scarred bridge. The thickening haze and uncertainty made every step a definite test of nerves, but at last the wooded mountain ridge on the far side of the gorge came into view. The two soldiers grinned at each other, encouraged by the sight. Although battered, the bridge was still in one piece. The train could keep going.