Godzilla vs. Kong Greg Keyes (room on the broom read aloud .txt) 📖

the storm as it crossed into the bay. The wind was already here, buffeting the rooftop and the helicopter warming up for flight, at times trying to steal off the titanium case he carried from his grip.

A storm at night could be a wonderful thing to see. It could bring with it many surprises. Of course, in this case, there would be no surprise. He knew what was coming. Monarch had ordered the evacuation a few minutes ago, but Apex had known a half-hour before that, because they still cultivated sources inside Monarch. Simmons had been worried about this eventuality; Ren had thought him paranoid. But Simmons had not gotten where he was by being stupid.

After three years, Godzilla was back. Coming here. It was not—could not be—coincidence. It was inevitable that he and the Titan would meet. His father had seen to that.

You are out there, aren’t you? he thought. And you, Father? Are you with him?

Ren did not believe in ghosts, not literally. But he did believe that people left things behind them when they were gone. Memory. Consequences.

And what could be more consequential than a son? A literal, biological legacy?

He knew it was a tired story, the father who never had time for his son. There had been songs written about it. He was not one to bring it up in conversation, or cry about it to a lover when he felt weak. He would not be a stereotype to be pitied and inevitably mocked. He had managed to keep his resentment even from his mother.

He supposed that was because he had always imagined they would reconcile, he and his father. That the old man would have a moment of satori, that the fish scales would fall from his eyes, and he would understand what he had been neglecting in the pursuit of his obsession. In pursuit of Gojira.

Of course, his grandfather Eiji had set the pattern. A sailor in World War II, he had lied to his son Ishiro for thirty-five years, claiming to work for a cargo company when in fact he had been drawn into working for Monarch. Eiji had come clean to his son, before he died in 1981, and they had had at least a little time to reconcile, for father to pass the torch to son.

But he would never get any such catharsis. His father had all but ignored him in life, but Ren had worshipped Ishiro, nonetheless. He had studied hard, learned to build and create in hopes that his father would someday understand him—or at least take note of him. It was on Gojira that Ren focused his anger. Gojira had felt almost like a big brother to him—the older brother his father truly loved and doted on. And in the end, his father had died for Gojira—a monster who had killed thousands—rather than come home alive to his only son.

His father had made his choice. Ren had made his. What father worshipped, the son would revile. What the father saved, the son would destroy.

That was how it was. That course was now set. His father had chosen to side with monster. Ren chose humanity.

“It’s time! We need to evacuate now!” Simmons shouted to be heard, approaching from the facility below.

Ren followed Simmons and Hayworth, the security chief, to the helicopter. Ren caught Hayworth’s eye, then looked back at the approaching mist. He thought he could make out a shape there, the shape. And then, there he was.

Jets screamed by, and explosions billowed against Gojira’s hide.

Hello, brother, he thought. They don’t learn, do they? Those pitiful weapons can’t stop you. But I can. I will. Then he climbed in.

Santa Rosa Island, Florida

The rain was cold, so when Jenny made it back to shore, she took shelter under the eaves of one of the buildings. Godzilla was revealed by his glowing dorsal fins and by flashes of lightning that burned the sky white.

And then—another kind of light, like fireworks, but all the same color.

She blinked as her perspective shifted. Jet fighters, firing missiles at Godzilla. But why? Wasn’t he supposed to be humanity’s ally? What was going on?

Even as she wondered that, Godzilla’s fins suddenly glowed with heat, and a bolt of blue energy erupted from his mouth, stabbing into Pensacola.

Apex Facility, Pensacola

“Okay,” Bernie said, as he ran through the corridors. He needed to find an elevator, and he figured there should be one around the turn ahead. “Okay … not okay.”

Because the two armed guards watching the elevator ahead were staring at him.

“You!” one of them said. “Where’s your clearance tag?”

Bernie drew himself up. Showtime.

“You know what?” he said. “The fact that you’re talking about clearance tags right now in a time of crisis is incredibly unprofessional. We should be talking about evacuation!”

But the show closed as soon as it opened. The guards drew their Tasers.

“Freeze!” one of them shouted.

“Okay,” Bernie said, holding up his hands. “Okay.”

It had been a nice try. Well, no, it hadn’t been, had it? Even that was wishful thinking. He had completely bungled this.

Sorry, Sara, he thought.

They were still pointing their Tasers at him. Were they going to use them anyway?

Bernie heard a dull thud, and the building shook. The guards looked around warily, fingers still on the triggers of their weapons.

Another much closer explosion shuddered the building. Bernie took a few shallow breaths. The guards were a little distracted. Maybe if he made a break for it—

The wall exploded in a shower of sparks. The lights went out as Bernie was slammed into the floor.

I’m dead, he thought. Then: Wait, am I? He wiggled his fingers. They seemed to be alive.

The lights came back up, red. The room was completely trashed, rubble everywhere. The guards were out of it, and he—he wasn’t dead, but was he injured? He’d heard people in shock sometimes didn’t notice fatal wounds until they cashed out. He patted his hands over his body, scanned for wounds.

He seemed to be all right.

Gazing around, trying to understand his