Godzilla vs. Kong

by Greg Keyes

  “Don’t let them engage,” Mark said. “Whatever you do. You know what he is capable of. I don’t know why he’s headed for the Gulf. It might be something inland. Do you guys have any other Titan activity, anywhere?”

  “No,” the Monarch official, replied. “Nothing. What do you advise?”

  “His path has been wobbling, like he’s triangulating on something,” Mark said. “Right now he could come ashore—if he comes ashore—anyplace between Biloxi and Panama City. We’ll know more in an hour or so. We should start evacuating everything in between.”

  “That’s a lot of territory,” the man said. “I don’t think I can make that case. And as far as we know, Godzilla is still a friendly.”

  “It doesn’t matter how friendly he is,” Mark said. “If he comes ashore, for any reason, he’s going to break things. Like buildings and highways. People are going to die.”

  “Look,” Clermont said, “we’re doing what we can, for now. When he gets closer, if you still think he’s coming ashore, we’ll be ready. We’ve got relief staff on their way already.”

  “Prevention is way better than relief,” Mark said.

  “Look, most likely he’ll turn, right? We’re running projections, and none of them have him coming ashore. He’s avoiding human populations, just like he’s been doing for the last three years.”

  “I think something’s changed,” Mark said. “I feel it in my gut. Something new is happening.”

  “Just keep us updated,” Clermont replied. “And stay away from the press. The last thing we need at this point is a panic over nothing.”

  What about a panic over something? Mark thought. But he knew when he was at the wall. Yet as the next hour passed, and then the next, it became clear that Godzilla was headed straight for Pensacola.

  Why? Because there was a Monarch base here? Could the Titan somehow be aware they were tracking him? Maybe. Or at least he might have noticed the aircraft surveilling him, even if they were keeping their distance. Had Monarch escalated an innocent situation by putting things Godzilla recognized as weapons into play? Mark had seen that happen once, in the Monarch base near the Bahamas. Maybe if they called everything back… But Godzilla had been on his way here long before they sent out the jets. He was overthinking.

  “Enough of this,” he said. He called Clermont back and told him that if he didn’t evacuate the waterfront, he would call the Federal Emergency Management Agency himself. The official made noises that sounded agreeable but didn’t really amount to much. Godzilla was now only twenty miles offshore and showing absolutely no signs of turning. If anything, the Titan was speeding up.

  Mark took out his cell phone and called Madison.

  Russell House, Pensacola

  It was sometimes possible for Madison to close her eyes and just sleep. But all too often what she saw on the back of her eyelids made that impossible. Ghidorah, stalking her, destroying the ball park around her. Scenes of mass carnage. Her mother, in the distance, Ghidorah stooping over her, ending the woman who had sung her to sleep at night, nurtured her, mentored her. The therapist her dad had sent her to had said it was post-traumatic stress disorder, and she figured he was right. She had seen monsters, a lot of them, up close and personal. And she had known monstrous people, who murdered without conscience. And for a time—a short time, but still far too long—she had been on the same side as them.

  So maybe she was a little messed up. But she could not just give in to that. That could not be her identity. She refused to be a victim.

  She sat up, looking around her room. Her command center. The many computers, the maps, the incident charts, the newspaper clippings.

  Clearly this was going to be one of those nights when sleep would not come easily. She didn’t let it upset her anymore. If she occupied her mind with something else for a while, she could try again later. She had some homework; maybe she could turn her attention to that. Like most of her homework, it was just time-wasting drivel, guaranteed to bore her into unconsciousness.

  Then she remembered. Mad Truth was about to drop his latest podcast.

  She grabbed her phone and navigated to the site; saw he was uploading in four minutes. She went to the kitchen, filled a water bottle and returned to her bedroom. Her earbuds in, she took the pen and legal pad she kept by her bed for taking notes.

  Mad Truth—also known as the Real Deal, Titan Truth, Weathervane, and Godzilla Watch—had a low, confident, and obviously digitally altered voice.

  Hello, loyal listeners, welcome to TTP, Titan Truth Podcast episode 245. Today is the day. Maybe the last podcast I ever record. And look, I know I said that last week … and maybe a few other times, but the point is this—I’m sick of waiting for the right moment. Five years of deep cover at Apex Cybernetics is enough. I’m about to walk in and download hard evidence and expose a vast corporate conspiracy. If I walk out of this at all. And if this is my final broadcast, no regrets.

  Madison listened intently, parsing every syllable. A lot of what Mad Truth said was a sort of code; if you hadn’t been following him from the start, you might not get half of it. She had all of his podcasts archived, so she could cross-reference them whenever she needed to.

  She had been skeptical of him at first, and still was, to a point—maybe half or more of Mad Truth’s speculations were nonsense. But at the core of it—and especially when it came to the Titans—she thought he was probably on to something. Because she had been inside of a conspiracy, a big one. One that had almost destroyed the world, and her mother had been the architect of it. So, yes, she believed in such things. Like Mad Truth.

  Don’t call me a whistleblower, he went on. I ain’t whistling. And this ain’t a leak, either, this is a flood. And you better believe I’m gonna wash away all of Apex’s lies. You can believe that.

  She waited for more, but then realized he had signed off.

  That was a short one, Madison thought. Too short, given how he liked to rattle on, building his case, piling up evidence until his conclusions made themselves. Maybe this time Mad Truth really was about to do what he had been planning all along, to go through with it. But he had said it himself, this wasn’t the first time he’d been right on the verge of blowing everything wide open, and so far, he had never followed through.

  She sighed and put the phone in the charger. She wasn’t ready to sleep yet. Maybe it was time to see about that homework.

  Then her phone rang. She saw it was her dad and rolled her eyes. Why did he always call when he was coming home late? Why couldn’t he just text like a normal person?

  “What is it, Dad?” she answered. “I’m kind of busy here at the opium den.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s great, honey. But listen, I sent Jeanne—you remember Jeanne?”

  “The Jeanne you work with? Seaman Baskin?”

  “Yes. She’s coming over to give you a ride, okay?”

  “A ride? Why? To where?”

  “Look,” he said. “I can’t really explain over the phone. She’ll probably be there in about ten minutes. Grab whatever you need for an overnight.”

  “Overnight? What’s going on?”

  “Probably nothing,” he said. “I just want you here, with me, okay? I’ll feel better.”

  “Well … okay,” she said.

  “I love you, honey.”

  “I love you too, Dad,” she said.

  She put down the phone and started stuffing things into her duffel bag. The only place to sleep at her father’s work was in the bunkers underneath it. That could only mean one of three things: hurricane, tornado, or Titan. And it wasn’t a hurricane or a tornado, because a) the weather was clear, and b) Dad wouldn’t hesitate to mention either of those over the phone.

  Shit, she thought. Mad Truth. Did this have something to do with him? With him going after Apex tonight? It was hard to believe it was a coincidence.

  A few minutes later, Jeanne showed up, or rather, Seaman Baskin, part of the military detachment in the Pensacola offic
e.

  “Have they started evacuating the waterfront?” she asked Baskin.

  Baskin frowned, clearly hesitant.

  “Dad called,” Madison said. It wasn’t a lie.

  “Oh, so you know, then,” Baskin said. “Don’t be scared. You’ll be safe where we’re going. And your dad sent someone for your aunt.”

  “Which one is it?” Madison asked. “Scylla? Rodan?”

  “No,” Baskin said. Then she got it. “You didn’t know, did you? You tricked me.”

  “Dad wouldn’t say over the phone,” she said. “But I’m not an idiot.”

  “No, that would be me,” Baskin said. “But I guess it’s too late now. No, it’s the big one. Godzilla.”

  “That can’t be right,” Madison said. “Godzilla doesn’t attack for no reason. One of the others must be near.”

  “If they are, I haven’t heard about it,” Baskin said. “And I sincerely hope you’re wrong. One of these things is plenty for me.”

  “You don’t have to worry,” Madison said. “Whatever he’s doing, he didn’t come here to hurt us. Or anyone. You’ll see.”

  SIX

  The atheling of Geatmen uttered these words and

  Heroic did hasten, not any rejoinder

  Was willing to wait for; the wave-current swallowed The doughty-in-battle. Then a day’s-length elapsed ere

  He was able to see the sea at its bottom.

  Early she found then who fifty of winters

  The course of the currents kept in her fury,

  Grisly and greedy, that the grim one’s dominion

  Some one of men from above was exploring.

  Forth did she grab them, grappled the warrior

  With horrible clutches; yet no sooner she injured

  His body unscathèd: the burnie out-guarded,

  That she proved but powerless to pierce through the armor,

  The limb-mail locked, with loath-grabbing fingers.

  The sea-wolf bare then, when bottomward came she,

  She grabs him, and bears him to her den.

  The ring-prince homeward, that he after was powerless

  (He had daring to do it) to deal with his weapons,

  But many a mere-beast tormented him swimming,

  Flood-beasts no few with fierce-biting tusks did

  Break through his burnie, the brave one pursued they.

  The earl then discovered he was down in some cavern

  Where no water whatever anywise harmed him,

  And the clutch of the current could come not anear him,

  Since the roofed-hall prevented; brightness a-gleaming

  Fire-light he saw, flashing resplendent.

  From the Anglo-Saxon epic Beowulf, date disputed,

  circa 700–1000 AD

  Apex Facility, Pensacola

  Bernie Hayes stared at his laptop screen for a few more heartbeats, at the button for uploading to the SoundCloud. Then he clicked it.

  No turning back now, he thought.

  But of course, there was. No one knew who Mad Truth was. He hadn’t yet blown his cover at Apex. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this yet.

  He turned on the car light, pushing night out of the cramped vehicle.

  An itch in his sinuses suddenly turned into a sneeze.

  Yeah, he thought, fishing out his sinus spray. I’m a real international super agent. He opened the glove box, spilling out empty chip bags and food wrappers, crammed his laptop into it and closed it up. It wouldn’t help if someone was really on to him; they would search the car from end-to-end, probably take it apart. But it was an expensive piece of equipment, and he didn’t want to tempt anyone to smash his window in to take it. If that happened, it would probably end up being sold to a hacker who would wipe it so they could re-sell it—and in the process find more than they bargained for. That might create a trail, leading back to his car, to him…

  Good thing I’m not paranoid, he thought. Maybe he should just take the damn thing with him.

  No. That was even riskier. His car was a blight. No one was going to break into it unless they saw something valuable on one of the seats. He was pretty sure a bunch of empty chips bags wouldn’t attract anyone’s avarice.

  As he reached for his fanny pack, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror and thought how different he looked—from back then. Just a few years ago. Would she even recognize him now?

  Of course she would. Sara. In some way or other, he felt like she was looking down on him right now. And if she was, what she would see—better than anyone else ever could—was how freaking scared he was.

  “You got this,” he whispered to himself. “You got this. You got this.”

  Eventually you had to either give up or take a stand. And he was not giving up. The stakes were too high. Maybe he wasn’t some kind of superhero. But he could do this. For Sara. For everyone.

  He got out of the car and paused for just a moment to look at his destination, the Apex facility, and industrial blight blocking his view of Pensacola Bay. Years he had been working there, trying to make it look like he had his head down, that he wasn’t paying attention any more than the other worker bees in the building. They ground out their product, they didn’t ask questions, they took their paychecks home and pretended everything was fine. They never asked what they were making or why. They didn’t care. He hadn’t cared until his eyes were opened. When Sara died. Working for Apex.

  They had been married about a month when Godzilla and the MUTOs duked it out in San Francisco, but while terrifying and fascinating, it hadn’t seemed connected to them in their tiny flat in Port Huron. And then Godzilla … went away. And like a lot of people, they’d tried to pretend that was the end of it—the age of monsters had ended as quickly as it had begun.

  But over the next year, he began to see Sara wasn’t over it, exactly. She would drop odd comments about the Titans during mealtimes, or when they were watching TV. Eventually, he came to believe she was a little obsessed with the subject. That hadn’t worried him so much. He had his own obsessions. He even joked with her about it, and she joked back.

  But at a certain point, her laughter stopped. The jokes weren’t funny to her anymore.

  And then she had quit her job at Apex. At the time, it seemed to come out of the blue. It was only later that he began to remember the little things she’d said about work, about how she wasn’t sure she could take it anymore. She worked a lot, too much, and he had assumed it was about that, and her dislike for her coworkers.

  When she quit, they had had a fight. His income wasn’t enough for them to live on, and he’d felt ambushed by her decision. She told him she needed a break, that she needed to think about some things. He’d been terrified she would leave him, but after a difficult few days he’d come home to find a present wrapped for him on the kitchen table, and a note saying she was sorry, that she had her head straight and wanted to talk about some things, but that she loved him and it would be all right. That she would bring takeout for supper.

  He had got the call two hours later. She had been involved in a three-car collision. She was still alive when he got to the hospital, but she never regained consciousness. He was holding her hand when she died.

  The next two weeks were a blur, largely spent in a drunken stupor. The third week he had finally worked himself into going through her things. In the desk drawer in her home office he had found a single note.

  Godzilla > Apex > Monarch Contract > shipping manifest > component for bomb.

  The next day he had brushed up his resume, quit his job, and applied for a position at Apex.

  I go in there almost every day, he thought, still staring at the building. This is not a problem. No one will even notice you.

  Feeling a little more confident, he started walking.

  * * *

  One of the perks of working at Apex was that you were exposed to a nearly constant barrage of propaganda about how great the company was, how essentially altruistic they were. Even in t
he employee locker room, where a television screen was running the latest company ad. It began with scenes of three years ago, after the Titans ravaged much of the planet, followed by scenes of Apex helping rebuild. The voice narrating the video was that of the company’s CEO, Walter Simmons.

  When we started Apex cybernetics, he said, our dream was to extend the power of cutting-edge technology to everyone around the world. Then the world changed. We learned monsters are real. And we knew we had to dream even bigger. We dreamt of strengthening our cities against the Titan threat and making our homes safe. We dreamt of new ways to defend ourselves and keep the human race in full control of our destiny. Robotics, automation, artificial intelligence.

  Images of wheat fields, next-generation windmills, robots playing chess, some dude in a helmet with wires, and the latest satellites were replaced by a new well in an impoverished African village. Nice touch.

  Who knows what brave new future we’ll dream up next?

  Then Bernie was looking at the man himself, Walter Simmons, surrounded by the happy children of the village, well-hydrated with disease-free water.

  I’m Walter Simmons, he said. And it is my privilege to lead Apex into humanity’s bold new era. We’re not going anywhere, and neither are you.

  The children cheered, Simmons laughed, and Bernie bit his tongue.

  You knew, he thought angrily. You knew what was going to happen three years ago. And you capitalized on it.

  That had been the subject of his third podcast: How Big Tech knew the Titans were coming. How Apex had the contract to supply certain elements for a secret weapon known as the “Oxygen Destroyer” and how the whole thing had been covered up after a failed attempt to use the weapon, an attempt that had directly resulted in Ghidorah’s reign of terror.

  After being betrayed by one of their own, Emma Russell, and after losing more than half of their number to the Titans, there were plenty of disgruntled Monarch employees ready to talk, at least off the record. The picture some of them painted of Apex’s role in the disaster wasn’t pretty. But with Simmons’s money and influence, and with the government itself complicit in covering up their own screw-ups, the relationship between Apex and Monarch had been swept very far under a very deep shag rug.