Godzilla Lives!
A Godzilla fanfiction by Travis J. DeSantis
Chapter Two
Twenty years later...
Along the coast of Australia's Northern Territory, in an area away from civilization, lies a small cape inhabited primarily by saltwater crocodiles. This area is protected as a natural animal sanctuary, thereby off limits to all human activity.
It is because of this isolation that the garbage barge Jodie Ley can illegally dump its cargo in peace and quiet. Local crocodiles have long since learned to avoid the barge when it sailed into their cape, but they cannot escape the waste that increasingly pollutes their home.
This time, things were a little different. The mouth of the cape was blocked off by a string of row boats and rubber rafts. That is, 'blocked off' as well as a ragged line of environmentalists could manage. The protesters waved various banners and placards at the barge, each painted with crude images of weeping crocodiles and marginally catchy slogans. One of them, a black man, cried out in a thick accent: "Ogakor will get revenge!"
"What the hell is 'ogakor'?" asked one of the barge's crewman.
"I think it's aboriginal," replied a coworker. "It's their word for 'croc' or whatever. Probably think the ancient animal spirits will kill us all, eh?" The two guffawed brazenly. A ridiculous idea, indeed.
Further along the barge, it's captain strolled up to the bow, where another of the crew was waving and yelling at the protestors to get out of the way. "What's the problem here?" the captain demanded angrily. He was a greasy-looking middle-aged man with a scar running down his chin. "We have a schedule to keep, you know! If we stay here too long, we run the risk of getting caught!"
"Sorry, cap'. But wiya look at all dis 'ere? It's a bunch o' tree-huggin' hippies. They're blockin' the way."
Growling under his breath, Captain Patterson pulled out his walkie-talkie and signaled to the ship's pilot. "Go on through," he said into the device. "If they love the crocs that much, let the dirty bastards be food for them."
The barge whistle gave one last warning call to the protestors, then with a roar of the engine, it lurched forward once more. Most of the protestors lost their nerve as the ship approached, paddling frantically out of the way. A few stood their ground, so to speak, but they didn't last long under the barge's keel.
"Cripes, mate!" croaked the crew member. "What're we gonna say 'bout da blood?"
"It'll wash off before we get back to port," Patterson replied. The captain watched in satisfaction as protestors were forced to retreat, then went about supervising the dumping. Their cargo consisted of various chemical waste barrels, as it had since Patterson was assigned to this project, with purposely loosened seals. The disgusting sludge made the captain grimace, but he was already in a sour mood.
During the mission to steal Godzilla's scale twenty years ago, Patterson had apparently made a few small mistakes. This got him thrown from the strike team and his career within the organization was threatened. The scarred man could only get a new post as captain on this loathsome garbage barge.
It was a simple capital-raising scam to fund more important operations. An Australian official in charge of toxic waste management was approached with a mutually beneficial offer: the Red Bamboo would use one of their own ships to dump waste in a secluded area, while the government funds for proper waste management would be split between them as profits. Patterson first regarded the assignment as adding insult to injury, but he quickly devised a scheme to turn these circumstances to his advantage.
"Right! That's the last of it, cap'! But what d'we do 'bout the hippies?"
Patterson made a cutting motion across his throat. The protestors would not be allowed to spread the news of what was happening here. Assault rifles were handed out from the secret weapons compartment and the barge crew went to work. Gunfire and screams echoed around the cape. As he had said earlier: 'Let them become food for the crocodiles.'
Once both jobs were done, the barge roared to life again and pulled out of the cape. Patterson watched as its natural denizens materialized out of the trees and water to feed. The captain walked around his deck as they entered open waters, making sure everything was in order. Once they were well out to sea, he stood at the ship's stern, watching its wake crash over the water.
After a while, Patterson became aware of something floating in the waters just beside the ship. He first dismissed it as some jagged, moss-covered rock outcroppings. But then he realized that whatever it was, it was following them. Could it be some leftover barrels caught with rope? No, he would be able to see it. Then what?
Slowly, the round shapes started to change. They split along the middle and slid open to reveal something much smoother than rock. Double-lidded eyes opened and the two huge bronze-colored, cat-slitted orbs stared up at the barge. Patterson got the distinct impression it was looking right at him.
In a flash, it was over. The water exploded with the sound of a guttural roar and crunching metal. The barge was soon wailing with screams and sirens. The ship suddenly tilted back, flinging several crewmen into the frigid ocean water like a catapult. A couple more slide down the near vertical deck, one getting gored on his way by a twisted steel beam sticking out of the deck. The ship had just been ripped in half and was sinking fast.
No one would escape that catastrophe alive. Those that weren't swallowed up by the sea met a similar fate at the hands--or rather, jaws--of the enormous black shape lurking just below the surface.
