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

“Because creatures, like people, can change! And right now Godzilla is out there, hurting people, and we don’t know why. So cut your pop some slack, would ya?”

Madison had developed a pretty thick skin. She had been threatened by professional murderers. She had stolen the ORCA device from them and used it to disrupt Ghidorah’s control of the Titans. And she had been right to do it. Who knows, if it had not been for her, the world might be a smoking ruin right now.

But her father didn’t seem to remember any of that. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say, and he didn’t trust her, because he wanted her to be some kind of normal kid.

And that hurt, even through the thickest skin. What was the point? There wasn’t one.

“See you at home, Dad,” she said.

He softened a little. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got some other things to talk over. I’m just—this isn’t a good time.”

EIGHT

From the notes of Dr. Houston Brooks

Two brothers, One Hunahpu and Seven Hunahpu, are invited to Xibalba, the Underworld, by the Lords of Death, who send very strange owls to guide them there. Some living Mayan informants claim to know where the entrance to Xibalba is, although no one has definitively nailed this down.

—H.B.

One Hunahpu and Seven Hunahpu left immediately, the messengers guiding them as they descended down the path to Xibalba, the Underworld. They traversed a steep slope until they came out on the banks of the canyons called Trembling Canyon and Murmuring Canyon. They passed through turbulent rivers. They passed through Scorpion River, filled with uncountable numbers of scorpions, but they were not stung. They came to Blood River, and were able to pass because they did not drink of it. Next they arrived at the River of Pus, which they passed, undefeated. Finally they came to the Crossroads, and there they were defeated.

From Popol Vuh: Sacred Book of the Quiché Maya,

written down circa 1554–8

Denham School of Theoretical Science, Philadelphia

“The seemingly unprovoked Godzilla attack on Pensacola has left the world in a state of shock. Monarch officials are scrambling for a response but as of now there is no official directive. Civilians are advised to shelter in place.”

Nathan Lind shook his head as he listened to the report on the radio. Shelter in place? What did that even mean when it came to the Titans? Hiding in an inner hallway or doing the old duck and cover was not going to offer much protection if Godzilla stepped on your house, even if your house was built to withstand a hurricane, which many in Pensacola were.

But then what did he know? Just enough to get his brother and two other pilots killed and himself thoroughly discredited. If he didn’t have tenure, he would have been out on his ass; instead the Denham School of Theoretical Science was content to let him rot away in this dark office, with a minimal workload of intro courses where they figured he couldn’t do any harm. He glanced around the cluttered, unkempt office at his diagrams of the Hollow Earth. The picture of his brother, as he had last seen him, in Monarch flight gear, his helmet with “Unto the Breach” written on it. The piles of manuscripts and books he hadn’t looked at in months.

He had dreams, almost every night. Everything happened as it had: their last drink together, the press briefing on the carrier, the planes entering the tunnel. And at every point in the dream he tried to stop it, make something else happen, say the right thing. But it always ended in that last moment, hearing Dave’s last words.

Everything had imploded after that. Monarch, already tender over how they were perceived by the public, left him to hang. No one blamed him by name. But there was a lot of talk of how the calculations had been wrong, that the Hollow Earth theory had not passed the verification test. Other academics reacted with predictable Schadenfreude, blasting him as a fringe theorist and holding him up as an example of a pseudoscientist whose nonsense had gotten people killed. There were still people at Monarch who knew better, but they weren’t talking. Houston Brooks had retired, and as far as Monarch was concerned, two major debacles on the Hollow Earth front were enough. Pure research for the sake of research was out, replaced by what they considered to be more “practical” projects. At that time the Titans were sleeping; why risk waking more of them up, as they had Camazotz? What if there were a thousand Titans below their feet, just waiting to be riled up like a nest of skyscraper-sized hornets?

He tried to fight it at first, to salvage what he could of his reputation. The fight hadn’t lasted long; he didn’t have the will or the stamina for it.

He heard a faint sound and turned. He was shocked to see a man standing in his office, a man in a very expensive-looking black suit. His dark hair was styled so it almost covered one eye, and he sported a thin mustache. He wasn’t looking at Nathan but was casually surveying the contents of the office. Like he belonged there and was taking inventory.

“Uh, can I help you?” Nathan asked.

The man didn’t answer but continued his review of the various news clippings, diagrams and photographs in the room.

“Look, if you need an appointment, my office hours are nine to five—”

“Oh, please, Dr. Lind,” another voice said. “Guys like us don’t do normal hours, do we?”

Nathan wondered if his jaw had literally dropped, or if it just felt that way. There was another guy sitting across the office—his office. From him. How had he come in within him noticing? Had he been that preoccupied?

And this guy wasn’t just anyone. He still didn’t know who the first man was, but the man who had just called him Dr. Lind was one of