Godzilla - The Official Movie Novelization by Greg Cox

an ancient memory, compelled him to investigate further. Shining the light into the terrarium, he was pleased to see that a dried and crumbling cocoon was split down the middle. As nearly as he could tell, the cocoon was empty, as though its former occupant had finally hatched after all, meltdown or no meltdown.
    “Huh,” he muttered.
How about that?
    * * *
    Joe knew what he wanted and he knew where to find them. Old memories and associations lay in wait all around him, poised to strike, but he kept them firmly at bay. Now was no time to wallow in grief and self-pity. He had a job to do—and possibly a disaster to avert.
    The beam from his flashlight tracked across his desk, even as he searched his memory for exactly where he’d left certain items fifteen years ago. He remembered pacing irritably across the room, arguing with Takashi on the phone. The light exposed a primitive cordless phone from 1999 and a well-gnawed pencil beside it.
C’mon, c’mon
, he thought impatiently.
Where the hell are you?
    Just when he was about to curse in frustration, the targets of his search turned up: fifteen dusty zip disks scattered across the floor near the desk. He realized belatedly that they must have been knocked off the desk by one of the convulsive tremors or blasts from that morning. And that wasn’t all. Lying near the fallen disks were the printouts of that distinctive waveform pattern. His eyes traced the pattern, which had haunted his imagination ever since the meltdown. It was just as he remembered it: small peaks at first, then higher and higher, closer and closer together, until…
    Don’t think about that now
, he thought.
Just get what you came for, while there’s still a chance to make people listen.
    He gathered up the disks and printouts, carefully blowing off the dust as he stowed them securely in his pack. Once that was done, he did another sweep of the office just to be certain that he hadn’t missed anything. As nearly as he could tell, he had retrieved everything important, except—
    An old family portrait, resting atop the desk, stopped him cold. He was held captive by the photo—of Joe, Sandra, and little Ford. Of his family as they once were: happy, loving, untouched by tragedy and estrangement. Before the catastrophe that blew his world apart.
    For a moment, the rescued data was forgotten. He lifted the portrait from the desk, gazing at it intently. His hands shook and his eyes threatened to mist over. Lifting his gaze from the portrait, he noticed something bright and shiny over the doorway. Sunset, filtering through the vegetation obscuring the window, was reflected off a homemade banner strung across the arch:
    “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!”
    Joe stared numbly at the banner, instantly transported back in time.
“He made you a sign, you know,”
Sandra had said that morning. It all came back to him now. Ford’s overlooked banner. The surprise party that never happened.
    All the emotions he had been fending off snuck up on him, ambushing him. His elation over finally recovering the disks gave way to a profound welling of regret. Sobered, but still determined to expose the truth, he tore his gaze away from the damning banner and stuffed the family portrait into the bag with the disks and printouts.
    It was time to go.
    He was sealing up the bag when, unexpectedly, the house came to life. Bells, buzzers, shrieks, and applause suddenly blared from the living room as the TV set turned itself on, breaking the silence with the hysterical din of some hyper-manic Japanese game show. At the same time, the desk lamp in the office crackled and sputtered only a few inches from Joe’s face, causing his heart to skip a beat. His dusty old computer booted up noisily.
    What the hell?
    Outside the office, the hallway lights were flickering, too. Unnerved by activity, Joe hoisted the duffel bag and went to investigate. Was it just a coincidence that this was happening now, around the same time that the cryptic signals