Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: Firestorm - The Official Movie Prequel

8

Caesar now knew his way into town.

The first night he had climbed high in the trees, searching for the nearest lights that marked human settlements. He saw them off toward where the moon and sun came from. When the moon rose, he and a small group went by its pale light, slowly and quietly, the orangs feeling the way first.

When they reached the fringes of the town and its streetlights, things went more easily. They kept to trees and shadows, which was not so difficult as there were plenty of both. Caesar had known what he was looking for—he had been with Will when he went to where humans found their food, although he usually had been made to wait in the car. But the places were easy to recognize, with lots of big windows and pictures of food. Will had called them “stores.”

A little hunting had found such a place. They discovered a way in through a shaft in the roof, and found bags they filled with fruit, honey, nuts—anything that looked edible. Keling remembered that fruit sometimes came in metal or plastic cans, and Caesar found plenty that had been made cold and hard, but which he knew would eventually warm up.

They had slipped back into the forest, groaning from the weight, but it was worth it to see Maurice and the other orangutans finally eat something, to know they would not starve—at least, not yet.

The next night the shaft was closed with a piece of wood, so they had needed to break a window. And the next they had found men with guns guarding the store, so they had been forced to locate a different source of food. They found another place, though, and while small, it had very good fruit, including a very stinky one that set Maurice to doing a strange, stately dance of happiness before devouring it.

Tonight they tried a third store—one Rocket had scouted the night before. But when they approached it, they found the windows already broken. There were people inside. At first Caesar thought they were waiting for him—that it was a trap. But then he saw that they were taking things out of the store and loading them into their cars. Humans were stealing from humans.

Why? he wondered.

It didn’t matter—this was no place for them now. They would have to find another store.

He was about to leave when cars with flashing lights arrived, and policemen climbed out. The trees around Caesar rustled as his band reacted, remembering the killers on the bridge that had been dressed like this.

“Quiet!” he whispered.

The people in the store tried to get away from the police, but a few fought them. The policemen hit them with sticks. One pulled his gun.

Caesar knew it was time to leave, while the humans were occupied with hurting each other.

He felt in his bones that something had changed. Something was different. He had never seen humans turn on each other in this way, and it sent weird chills through him. It might be that this was their last night foraging in this area. But if not here, then where? They couldn’t go back across the bridge. It was too dangerous. Were there towns toward sundown? And if so, were humans turning on each other there, as well?

A part of him hoped so. If they fought themselves, they might forget about him and his apes.

When they reached the last road before the woods, Caesar saw trucks, and more of the men who had been chasing them.

They know, he realized. They’re trying to catch us coming back.

It took them all night to go around, and they returned empty-handed. It was not a good night.

Maurice approached him, and Caesar waved to him.

Sorry, he signed. No fruit tonight.

It never was the long solution, the orangutan said.

Is there a long solution? Caesar asked.

The wild apes have found some things we can eat.

Not enough, Caesar said.

They will find more, Maurice assured him. He tilted his head. Fruit grows somewhere, he said. We will find it.

I saw humans fight each other over food, Caesar said. What can it mean?

That there is not enough food for them, either, Maurice replied.

How can that be? There was always food in the city.

Maurice shrugged.

If there isn’t enough food for humans, where will we get it? Caesar wondered.

You will find a way, Maurice said, rolling slowly under the branch. Because you are Caesar.

The man’s name is Tommy and he lives in a place with many rooms. In one of these rooms there are two cages, and he puts Koba in one of them. The cage is taller than the one that moved, but it is so narrow that he can’t sit or get down on all fours—he has to stand, which hurts after a while. He clings to the cage wall to relieve the cramping, but he can’t do that for long either. His mother is not there, and there are no toys in it at all. His only toy is his stuffed kitten, and he clings to it. It still smells like Mother.

There is another cage next to his, with something in it.

“Milo,” Tommy says, “Meet your protégé, Koba.”

Milo looks at Koba, then points at the stuffed animal.

Kitten, he signs.

Kitten, Koba signs back, relieved that Milo is not another big black caterpillar.

Milo doesn’t say a lot, though. When Koba gets some food, Milo wants some. When Koba asks Milo to tickle him, he doesn’t. Still, it is nice to have someone near.

The next day, Tommy starts teaching him.

Tommy shows Koba a stick. It looks funny, and has a sort of coil on one end of it. He touches Koba with it, and Koba screams as horrible pain shoots through his arm and makes his whole body shake.

“This is called a prod,” Tommy tells him. “When I ask you to do something and you don’t do it right, I will hurt you with it like I just did.”

He sits down in front of Koba.

“Koba,” he says. “I want you to smile.”

He makes a sign by putting one finger from each hand under his lips and then pulls them upward in a curve toward his ears. At the same time he pulls his lips back from his teeth and draws the corners of his mouth up. It is the expression Koba’s mother made when she was terrified of something, and Koba makes it, too, when he is scared.

Tommy wants him to do that?

Tommy hits him with the pain stick. Koba jerks back in terror.

“There,” Tommy says. “You smiled. Good Koba. Do it again. Smile.”

He makes the sign again.

Shaking, Koba raises his hands up and puts his fingers under his jaw and then curves them up.

“That’s the sign,” Tommy says. “Now do it with your mouth.”

Then he shocks Koba again. Koba thinks his body will curl into a ball of pain and stay that way. It hurts like nothing he has ever felt.

“There,” Tommy said. “You smiled, you little sonofabitch. Now, see if you can do it without me shocking the crap out of you. Smile.” And he makes the sign again.

Then he reaches for his stick.

Koba flinches back, anticipating the pain.

“There you go,” Tommy said. “You’re starting to catch on.”

He makes the sign again and raises the stick. Koba watches, confused.

“I said smile,” Tommy roars, jabbing Koba again.

Tommy waits a minute while Koba shivers and pants and calms down. He takes out a little white stick, and another thing that makes hot flower-air. He touches the hot flower-air to the white stick, then sucks on it. Smoke comes out of his mouth. It does not smell good.

Tommy sets the smoke-stick down. He makes the “smile” sign and then reaches for his shocking stick. Koba knows Tommy is going to hit him again. Koba pulls his lips back from his teeth and makes them curve up toward his ears. It isn’t hard, he’s so scared.

Tommy puts the stick back down.

“Good boy,” he says. “You learn fast.”

He does the sign for “smile,” but does not reach for the stick.

Koba dithers, uncertain what to do.

Tommy hits him with the stick.

This time, when Tommy does the sign for “smile” Koba pulls his face into a rictus of terror.

“Good boy,” Tommy says, and gives him a cookie.

The next lesson is about “talking.” Koba learns to hoot-pant whenever Tommy signs for him to. After that they move on to dancing. For this lesson, Koba is shocked many, many times.

Milo is already good at all of these things. He walks upright most of the time, at least when Tommy is around, and he can do lots of other tricks, too.

One day, instead of teaching Koba, Tommy takes both of them someplace in a car. It is a place that looks a little like a room inside of Tommy’s house, except that it only has three walls and no ceiling and it is inside a much bigger room. There are other rooms like this attached to it. The lights are very hot, and bright, and Koba is told to stay still. Then a woman comes into the room and says something.

Her name is Alice. Tommy tells Koba to smile, and he does. Then he makes another sign, but Koba doesn’t remember what that sign means, so Tommy hits him with the stick. Then he shows Koba clapping, which is what Koba was supposed to do.

Then they start again. The woman says the same thing, and then Koba “smiles” and claps.

They do this several more times. Koba knows he is doing the right thing, because Tommy does not hurt him. The woman seems to be getting something wrong. But Tommy does not shock her.

Koba is never sure about what they are supposed to be doing, but he learns to like it, except for the part where Tommy hurts him. They put him in pants and shirt, or sometimes a skirt. He is trained to do things, often the same things, over and over. Once he is supposed to stack up a bunch of objects so he can try to climb and get some bananas from on top of a big square object. As he reaches for the bananas, however, the pile wobbles and he falls. It hurts, but he has to do it over and over again, until he gets it right.

If he gets it right, he gets something sweet to eat. If he doesn’t, Tommy hurts him with the stick.

Milo does a lot of tricks, a lot more than Koba. And he almost never gets hit or shocked with the stick.

One day Koba notices a little thing like a mirror. He sees some very small people in it. The people look like the normal-sized people, who he also can see, and there is one who looks like Milo. They’re doing the same things that the normal-sized people are doing. He wonders if the little people are learning what to do from the big ones.

One night, Tommy lets them out of their cages, but he doesn’t teach them anything. Instead he watches one of the squares with little people inside, and drinks something. Koba doesn’t like the smell of the drink—it smells like the stuff Roger was drinking before he hit Koba and his mother with the oranges in the bag.

Koba looks for Milo and Alice in the screen, but these are different people.

Milo nudges him.

Come, he signs.

He leads Koba to the room where they learn things. He goes over to a big black hoop hanging from a rope and starts to swing on it. Koba jumps on and begins to swing, too. It feels good to let his muscles stretch outside of the cage. For the first time since leaving where his mother was he feels a little happy. There are other things to play on and climb on. There is a ball that Milo teaches him to roll, and they play a game with it.

Koba sees a leash and hands it to Milo. He motions for Milo to put it on him. At first Milo does not understand. He puts the leash down. But then Koba tries again. Milo tentatively comes forward with the leash. Koba hoots and jumps back. Milo tries again, and once more Koba hops back, hooting laughter.

Then Milo starts laughing, too, and the chase begins. They run all around the room. Milo eventually catches Koba, and they tussle on the floor. Only once, when Koba playfully grabs at Milo’s ear, does Milo get angry. He scowls and pushes Koba away. But then Koba tickles him, and they start playing again.

After a while, they grow tired, and Milo leads Koba around the house. Tommy is where he was, but now he is asleep, a can of the stuff he was drinking still in his hand. Milo makes the sign for “quiet.”

In one room there is a big white box, like the one he was supposed to get the bananas off of, at the place where he and Milo do their tricks. This one is smaller though, and has food in it. So do some other boxes—each one a different size. Milo finds them sweet things to eat. They play some more and then curl up next to each other to sleep. It feels good to sleep lying down, and not standing up in the cage.

Koba wakes with Milo plucking at him. He sees light coming through the windows. Something is making a ringing noise, and Tommy is stirring on the long chair.

Milo pulls him frantically toward the cages.

Tommy, he signs. Stick, stick—come in cage. Quick!

Koba remembers that it was Tommy that let them out of the cages, but he does what Milo says. The cage doors click shut.

A moment later, Tommy appears, the stick in his hand. He looks at them.

“Huh,” he says, and then scratches his head. He walks off.

It is the next night, and Tommy lets them out again. This time he watches them play. Koba does the trick they have been practicing; he pretends to be crying, and then Milo comes and gives him a hug. Koba is hoping for a cookie, but instead Tommy offers him the stuff he is drinking. It still smells bad to Koba, and he does not want to drink it, but Tommy shows him the stick and tells him to drink it.

It burns in his nose and throat, and he wants to spit it out, but Tommy has the stick. And so he swallows it.

After it stops burning, it sits in his stomach, turning warm. It feels a little like being groomed, and he remembers his mother. He remembers outside, and the wind, and soon he feels a little warm wind in his head. Milo drinks some too, and then they play together some more. Things are funny that shouldn’t be, like when Koba misses his handhold and cracks his head on the floor.

Milo laughs, and so does Koba, although it hurts.

Like the night before, they find Tommy asleep in front of the tiny moving people, and like before Milo finds them some things to eat and they curl up together.

But this time they wake up with Tommy hitting them and yelling at them. He chases them to their cages and makes them get in. Koba stands there, cramped and miserable. Something is wrong with his head. It hurts, and his stomach feels wrong. He can see that Milo doesn’t feel well, either.

It is the next morning, and they are at the place where the little people copy the big ones. Milo is trying to do his trick, but he keeps falling. Tommy hits him again and again, but he doesn’t get it right. Tommy leaves to put one of the smoking sticks in his mouth. Most of the other people wander off. Milo is sulking.

A boy Koba has only seen today goes over to Milo and pokes him with his finger.

“Come on,” he says. “Do something.” Milo just backs up a little.

The boy pokes him again.

“Come on, you stupid monkey, do a trick.”

Koba can see that Milo is getting agitated. The boy is challenging him, threatening him. But the boy is not Tommy. The boy does not have the stick.

“You’re such a dumb monkey,” the boy says. “I bet you eat your own shit, don’t you.” He pushes Milo on the head. Milo looks confused, and then he is suddenly angry. He screams and lunges forward, biting the boy on the nose. It isn’t much of a bite—most of the nose is still there—but it bleeds a lot. The boy starts screaming, and Milo goes behind a chair and puts his hands over his head.

All the people come back, including Tommy.

Tommy hits Milo many times with the stick. Then he puts them in their cages on the truck and they go home. When they get home, Tommy takes Koba from the truck and puts him in his cage in the house, but he leaves Milo in the truck. Then Tommy leaves Koba again, and he is alone.

Koba doesn’t like being alone. Being in the cage was bad, but at least Milo had been close. Koba grips the cage and shakes it. He jumps and bangs his head on the top, where the food comes down. He begins to think that Milo and Tommy will never come back.

Milo and Tommy do come back, and Tommy puts Milo in his cage. Milo is asleep. His face looks strange, swollen. Koba tries to wake him up, but Milo doesn’t hear him, and after a while Tommy comes in with the stick.

“Shut up,” he says. “Or you’re next.”

Koba does not know what Tommy means.

After a long time, Milo does wake up. He looks around and sees Koba. Milo tries to hoot-pant, or at least that’s what Koba thinks he’s doing, but it comes out muffled because Milo is not opening his mouth. Milo starts to panic. He shakes the cage, and claws at his face. He pulls his lips up and does the “smile,” and when he does, Koba can see something shiny toward the back of Milo’s jaw.

After a long time, Milo tires out. He looks desperately at Koba.

Mouth not open, he signs.

Koba doesn’t understand. What has happened to Milo’s mouth?

It is the next day, and Tommy is making them practice their tricks. Milo seems to feel better, but he still can’t open his mouth. Tommy feeds him through a straw. Tommy looks at Koba.

“This is what happens,” he said. “This is what happens when you don’t behave. You get your goddamn jaw wired shut. You remember that, you little pissant.”

Milo is still able to do most of his tricks. He can even “smile”, although he can no longer “talk.” Koba does most of the talking now.

Tommy still lets them out sometimes, but Milo isn’t the same. He doesn’t play long. He doesn’t look for food in Tommy’s boxes. He goes back to his cage. He doesn’t sign very much, and even with Milo there, Koba feels lonely.

Koba felt dizzy as the memories pushed through him, and he realized that while he hadn’t been asleep, he hadn’t really been aware of what was happening around him, either.

He saw one of the big caterpillars looking at him. They had found the big caterpillars at the zoo. He had wondered why Caesar freed them, along with the apes. They couldn’t sign, and they were stupid. Go away, caterpillar, he signed. But of course it just stared at him. Disturbed, he climbed away from it, hoping he didn’t start seeing things again.

A bit later he found Caesar, and felt excited when Caesar approached him. He quickly supplicated.

Koba, Caesar said. My band is smaller now. I need fast, strong apes with me.

I’m with you Caesar.

It’s dangerous. Some have died.

Humans have done much bad to me, Koba responded. Happy to fight them.

We don’t fight them, Caesar said. We trick, we avoid. We save apes.

He waved at the hundreds in the troop.

Koba understands, Koba said, slightly disappointed. But Caesar was the leader. Caesar was smart. He knew what was best for them all.

David woke at four, as usual. He heard sirens in the distance, and looked out his bedroom window. All he saw was San Francisco, in darkness. It wasn’t all that unusual to hear sirens now and then, but in the last few days and nights the number and frequency of them had multiplied. Things were definitely getting more than a little crazy. He had covered a triple homicide in Chinatown the night before, which had turned out to be a sort of robbery gone wrong. The rumor had gotten out that monkey penis could cure the virus, and so Chinese apothecaries were being ransacked.

Three groups had shown up at the same place and had a shoot-out.

Over monkey penis.

He went to the living room and flipped on the TV, where they were rehashing the riot that former Chief of Police Dreyfus had managed to quell. Then they started showing clips of him from various local talk shows. He was always urging calm, and he came off as smart, deliberate, and in control. Mayor House, by contrast, seemed to be steadily losing it. The polls were starting to look very good for Dreyfus.

He turned off the TV and picked up his tablet to check his messages.

Unsurprisingly, there was an email from Clancy. He had tried to call her the day before, to make sure she was okay, but then he realized she probably didn’t have reception up there.

What was surprising was the content of the mail. He read it, then read it again, wondering if it was some sort of prank, but it seemed pretty serious—and while Clancy was playful, she wasn’t actually the practical joker sort.

Okay, he thought, let’s have a look at this.

There were really two parts to what she had sent. One was a brief essay describing the relationship between Gen Sys and Anvil, and her suspicion that the cover-up Gen Sys had begun was still going on under Anvil. The other was a list of the names of the encrypted files she had come across. Ol86G, AgniP3, Chl223, RV113, Teetot, AH1/2F.

None of them meant anything to him, nor did an Internet search turn up anything that looked as if it might be a lead.

A quick search established the basic facts of the matter, however. Anvil and Gen Sys were indeed owned by the same parent company. After searching “Gen Sys + Apes,” he found an article that was eight years old. It was about a shareholder’s meeting in which the results of a drug trial were to be released, apparently with much fanfare. The drug, ALZ112, was supposed to be a cure for Alzheimer’s, and they had tested it on a chimpanzee. The chimp in question had shown considerable cognitive improvement, and was to be introduced to the public as proof that the drug was effective at helping the brain build new cells and repair itself.

Bizarrely, the chimp had gone berserk, broken into the meeting room, and been put down by a security guard. The drug was deemed too dangerous for further trials, and apparently that was that.

He leaned back.

That was that. Except that Gen Sys had been trashed by apes in the lead-up to the whole Monkeygate thing. And now Anvil seemed to be trying to cover something up, as well. And Anvil was in the employ of the City of San Francisco.

From his investigation of hijinks in appropriations at City Hall, he was already convinced that there was a lot more money moving around there than there should be if everyone was on the up-and-up. What if the mayor was being bribed to cover something up? What could be that big?

This was definitely worth checking out. Everyone was focused on the plague. This story could be very big—and it could be all his.

Talia wasn’t sure how long she had been on her feet, but they were numb. She had lost count of the hits, and had been admitting people all day. They just kept coming, one train wreck after another.

Her prediction to her father had proven all too true—almost all of the staff were dealing with the retrovirus, leaving her and a handful of others to deal with gun- and knife-wounds, vehicular casualties, and the like. What she was coming to realize was that that sort of morbidity wasn’t remaining at the rate she was used to—it was rising. Most particularly she was seeing an increase in assault victims, people with wounds from broken glass, bats, fists, and feet. As the local death toll from the virus hurdled over a thousand, everything else was ratcheting up, as well.

Some of the assault injuries came from their own waiting room, which was now being used for triage. Those who had tested positive for the disease were escorted to one bus, those who weren’t symptomatic went to another. The sick were then driven to isolation camps, while everyone else went to quarantine because they had potentially been exposed.

Security was being provided by National Guardsmen. Talia found it unnerving to look out at the waiting room and see men holding assault rifles, but she knew things would be far worse without them.

“Somebody’s been tweeting that we’ve got the goddamn cure again,” Randal said. They were patching up an eighteen-year-old boy who looked as if he’d met the business end of a switchblade. “We’re going to get mobbed, like St. Francis did.”

“They didn’t have National Guard at St. Francis,” she pointed out, stitching up an intestine.

“Yeah, but people’re just getting more and more desperate,” he said. “There was a kid in here yesterday—you missed it. His mom had given him some kind of herbal medicine, thinking it would cure him. I still don’t know what it was, but he was convulsing when she brought him in. He was in acute renal failure. Died on the table. And of course the mother broke down, started screaming about how our western medicine was to blame. It was a mess.”

“Jeez,” she said. She noticed how tired Randal looked, and figured she probably looked worse. “That’s too bad. He would have died anyway, but this way she blames herself.”

“No, she blames us,” he said. “Weren’t you listening?”

She shrugged. “You really can’t expect a mother to be rational two minutes after her son has died. They usually find someone to blame.”

“How about the quack who sold her the medicine?”

“That would be way too logical,” she said. “Okay, thanks—I think I’ve got this one now.”

“Right,” Randal said. “I’ll go see what’s next.”

As he was getting up, he suddenly sneezed. Talia looked up and saw that his mask was spattered red.

“Oh, God, Randal,” she said.