Ford understood the man’s reasoning. If they couldn’t disarm the bomb, then maybe they could still get it out to sea before the warhead detonated. He stepped back and let six burly soldiers hoist the warhead by the handles on each side. Grunting in effort, they toted it back the way they’d come, retracing their path up the rubble-covered slope to the inverted doorway of the topsy-turvy Victorian home. Gathering up his tools, Ford hurried after them, only to pause on the threshold of the buried house. He glanced back over his shoulder at the multitude of pulsing egg sacs encrusting the ceiling. There had to be dozens of the eggs, each capable of hatching yet another MUTO.

The enormity of the threat was not lost on Ford. Two MUTOs were bad enough, but an entire swarm of them?

Uh-uh, Ford thought. Not a chance.

He signaled the other men to go on without him. One way or another, he had to end this.

* * *

Godzilla and the male faced off amidst the burning skyscrapers. They eyed each other warily, each seeking an advantage or opening. The MUTO glided between the surviving high-rises, keeping just out of reach of Godzilla’s outstretched forearms and claws. Baring his fangs, Godzilla dared the male to get closer.

But the standoff gave the female a chance to recover from Godzilla’s fire breath. Singed and smoking, she rose up on her hind legs and lunged at Godzilla. Hatred burned in her crimson eyes. She screeched in rage, out for revenge.

The male attacked simultaneously.

* * *

The upended gasoline tanker was right where Ford had seen it before, partially buried in debris on the floor of the sinkhole. Ford clambered up the exposed underbelly of tanker to reach the pipe valve and hammered at it with the butt of his rifle. He was beyond exhausted, but adrenaline and fear for his family kept him going. A couple of solid whacks bent the valve. Encouraged, Ford pounded it again—and the valve snapped off altogether.

Fuel gushed from the pipe, the gasoline smell invading Ford’s nose and mouth. The fuel spilled down the belly of the tanker onto the floor of the pit, where numerous small fires still smoldered. The gas washed over the bronze dragon and the other debris, streaming toward the flames.

Ford wasn’t going to stick around for the fireworks. Leaping down from the tanker, he landed roughly on the loose debris, twisting his ankle. Despite the pain, he sprinted out of the cavern, making tracks for the surface. His boots pounded against the ceiling of the upside-down Victorian.

This was going to be close.

* * *