CHAPTER 4
HEADQUARTERS OF THE JAPANESE COAST GUARD
11:27 P.M.
“Right, the same location. The Eiko-Maru and Bingo-Maru. Both are freighters owned by Nankai. Cause of the sinkings unknown.”
The voice of Mainichi Shimbun reporter Sachio Hagiwara was one of many filling the chaotic air within the walls of Coast Guard HQ. The news of the second ship’s sinking had hit the building like a grenade, and every corner of the crowded boardroom swarmed with frantic urgency. Hagiwara found himself practically yelling his report through the telephone as his fellow reporters around him engaged in similar calls. The newsstands of Tokyo would be flooded with variations on the same sensational and tragic headline within a few hours. Hagiwara could practically see each one writing itself before his eyes: “Naval Mines? Undersea Volcano? Maritime Mystery Strikes Japanese Coast!” Or perhaps something more direct: “Ships Sunk Mysteriously at Sea! Death Toll Rises as Search for Survivors Continues!”
It was a surreal position to be in, Hagiwara thought. To spread such horrible news to the masses, to potentially cause panic and spur greater heartbreak should any updates take an even greater turn for the tragic… and yet, the people deserved to know. However horrific this incident was, however worse it might get, the truth was far too important to keep concealed. And telling the truth to the people was Hagiwara’s job.
He only wished he fully understood what that truth might be.
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“You really have no idea if there are any survivors?”
The speaker had been a young woman, the worry on her face etched so deeply that she appeared years older than her true age. She stood in a crowd of nearly a dozen men and women, all gathered around a small table and the Coast Guard officer who sat behind it. Every face bore the same, unmistakable look of panic and fear.
“We won’t know until morning.” The officer calmly spoke his response, making sure to meet the eyes of every wife, parent, sibling, and friend in the crowd. “A helicopter and two ships are heading to the site of the sinkings now. We can’t say anything until we receive their report.”
“Why not send more ships?” A man in the center of the throng had spoken up. “Surely more would be of better use.”
“We aren’t limiting the search party to two ships,“ replied the officer. “Rest assured that we’ll devote all our resources to the search.”
The officer breathed deeply but subtly as the questions continued to come. Keeping his demeanor calm and professional was becoming more of a challenge with each passing moment. He was beginning to repeat himself, to fall back on answers that weren’t answers at all. He knew that soon, there would be nothing he could say that would calm these poor terrified people. Each face that stared down at him belonged, in some form, to a fisherman on one of the two sunken ships. Each face told a story, represented a life the officer could never truly know. And as the day stretched on with no answers, the hope in those faces was gradually dying before his eyes.
It was a sight he’d seen before, more times than he cared to recount. A sight he’d foolishly hoped he’d never see again.
He could only pray that at least one soul standing before him received good news before the new day was out.
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THE SEA OF JAPAN
6:48 A.M.
It was Masaji who’d spotted the men first.
He’d been focused on reeling in yet another empty net when the sounds of screaming distracted him, echoing across the vastness of the Pacific. His fellow fishermen had heard it, too, and each had frozen in place as their eyes scanned the horizon for signs of the source. The sea could often play tricks on the senses, making it hard to determine the direction of even the closest of sounds. It didn’t take long for Masaji to triangulate the calls and discern a shape some 20 meters away.
The fishermen began to row. The cries of the distant castaways grew louder, only quieting as the raft approached their position with the promise of rescue. There were three men, each clinging to a single, floating section of wooden hull. The fishermen cast ropes toward the drifting survivors, and one by one, each was pulled from the sea.
The men were shaking uncontrollably, their lungs gasping for air as if they’d nearly drowned. As their rescuers checked them over, it became clear that none had inhaled any water, nor were they trembling from coldness. The warm Pacific waters weren’t prone to causing hypothermia, nor – as they soon learned – had the men been in the water for long enough to cause any serious bodily harm. Through mumbles and broken sentences, the fishermen began to piece together the story of the castaways. They’d been adrift for several hours, waiting and hoping for a rescue party to arrive from the mainland. They appeared to be the only survivors.
Masaji cradled one of the panting men in his arms in a futile attempt to calm his panic. “Please…” he spoke gently, “Can you say how this happened? What happened to your ship?”
The man’s trembling increased. As he stared with eyes that seemed to pass through Masaji and into the distant skies, he breathed a single word: “Fire.”
“What’s that?” Masaji leaned in closer.
“I’m telling you, the sea just exploded!”
The man’s burst of energy was short-lived, and he slumped back into Masaji’s arms. As he did so, Masaji took notice of the man’s face. There was something… off about it. An unnatural tan seemed to cover him, ending abruptly on his chest and neck where his collar would’ve covered his skin. Masaji shot a glance at the other survivors; he couldn’t sure, but they all looked similarly tanned.
The fisherman felt his breath catch in his throat as he stood and grabbed an oar. Nothing about what he’d seen was adding up, but the answers could wait. It was time to return these men to dry land.
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HEADQUARTERS OF THE JAPANESE COAST GUARD
7:09 A.M.
“Everyone, please listen… we have an update.”
The packed boardroom went silent. The Coast Guard officer had just received new information, and the time had come to finally update the waiting families. He knew that what he had to say was a mixed blessing, but it was certainly better than continuing to keep these unfortunate people in the dark.
“The helicopter arrived at the site of the sinkings. We can now confirm that three survivors have been rescued by a fishing boat. They’re being taken to Odo Island. We’re dispatching a patrol ship to get them.”
After a brief silence, a woman stepped from the crowd to ask the obvious question: “Which boat are they from? The Eiko-Maru or the Bingo-Maru?” The officer swallowed and put on a smile. “We’re still investigating. We’ll release the names as soon as we know.”
For the first time in hours, a maintained quiet fell over the packed space. There were no more questions to be asked, and no answers to be given. Three men had survived. Three families would see their loved one again. Nankai would have its answers, but at a horrible cost. Now, there was nothing to do but return to waiting.
The calm would only last for a few precious seconds. Before the officer could take his seat, another man stepped into the room. He deftly handed the officer a slip of paper and whispered something imperceptible into his ear. The two men rushed away, and chaos followed with them.
“They have the names!”
“Please tell us!”
“Who survived? What are their names?”
“Is my Koichi alive?”
“I’ve been waiting so long!”
“Did the boat send a signal?”
“Tell us what you know!”
The crowd swarmed through the narrow hallways, heading to the communications room in pursuit of the officers. They were greeted with a barred door, which only opened to allow the Nankai President, a single reporter, and a flushed Hideto Ogata access. The men rushed to the center of the room, where another Coast Guard officer stood, a report held in his shaking hands.
“What is it?” Ogata asked.
The officer broke eye contact. “This is incredible. Absolutely incredible…” He paused for a moment before lifting his head to meet the room. “The fishing boat has met the same fate.”
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THE SEA OF JAPAN
6:14 P.M.
Odo was not a large island. With only a few square kilometers of land at their disposal, its people lived mostly as farmers and fishermen. It was a simple life, a life of hard work and gratitude for humble blessings. While some islanders eventually chose to leave for the convenience and modern trappings of the mainland, a great many chose to remain and live the life of their ancestors.
On most summer nights, the people would gather on the hill that rose tall over the island. They would dance and sing, celebrating life under a blanket of stars. But on this night, the population had congregated on the beach, and celebration the farthest thing from their troubled minds.
Nearly every man, woman, and child of Odo was standing vigil over the sea. They’d heard the news of two mainland ships meeting a mysterious demise, and they knew a raft of their own had also disappeared. The raft had been due back with their three recovered survivors for many hours. Now, the sun was nearly set over the horizon, and the ocean remained stubbornly still and lifeless.
High above the beach, young Shinkichi Yamada sat stoically within a wooden watchtower, his eyes locked onto the distant waves. To his left sat Gisaku, the island’s eldest fisherman, whose stare carried with it the intensity of age and experience. The old man had spent countless days in his long life watching the sea, and he knew its secrets better than most. Tonight, his face was more serious than Shinkichi had seen it in a long time. “No matter how you look at it, this is serious,” the old man had said. “I can’t understand what’s going on out there…”
Gisaku’s uncharacteristic unease was only one burden on Shinkichi’s troubled mind. The other – the biggest – was that his brother was on the missing raft. If the same tragedy that befell the two mainland ships had truly struck his brother, there was no guarantee he’d ever…
A shape.
It’d appeared suddenly, as if out of a nonexistent mist surrounding the island. A small, drifting form was approaching the beach on the tide. Shinkichi rose and pointed. “Look, something’s floating in!” Gisaku followed his finger and saw it, too.
“A raft! It’s a raft!”
He lifted both hands to the sides of his mouth and yelled, his voice projecting over the ocean air to greet the ears of his fellow islanders on the beach. “A raft is coming in! Watch for the raft!”
Shinkichi bolted from his position to quickly climb down from the watch tower. He’d been too far away to see how many men were on the raft, but if there was even the slightest chance…
The young man sped down the paths that led from the tower to the fields, from the fields to the village, and finally, to the coast. As he neared the water, he saw a crew of swimmers bringing the raft ashore. The islanders had moved as close to the water as they could, and multiple men had rushed forth to meet the raft. Back on the beach, others were building up the fire in preparation to warm the passengers.
Amidst the cries and splashing, Shinkichi heard a voice he couldn’t identify call out a name: “Masaji! It’s Masaji!” Shinkichi ran faster, the water soaking his clothes as he forced his way through the crowd and fell to his knees beside the raft.
Masaji lay prone on his stomach, his skin glistening under the last remnants of the setting sun. He was the only man on the raft, and he was unconscious. But he’s alive, Shinkichi thought. My brother is alive.
As Masaji was lifted into a seated position, Shinkichi edged closer to the raft. A fisherman had begun rapping his face in a forceful slap to wake him, and after several hits, he finally stirred. His eyes slowly blinked back to consciousness, and silence fell upon the crowd. With a slow movement that seemed almost painful, Masaji turned his head to look up at the man holding him, and in a voice akin to a whisper, said “It got us… and our boat.”
The crowd began to yell again. “What? What did this? How did this happen? What did this to you?” But it was no use; Masaji had collapsed back into unconsciousness, and no amount of screaming, striking, or shaking from his fellow islanders could wake him.
CHAPTER 5 COMING SOON!
The Godzilla Novelization Project 