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

11

“What happened to the goddamn camera?” Corbin snapped.

“I think we have to assume the chimps got it,” Malakai replied. “One or all of them must have known what it was.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Malakai, Clancy, Corbin and his crew were gathered around the monitors in the command centre.

“Not really,” Clancy said. “A lot of these guys have been monitored by cameras all of their lives.”

“They didn’t notice it when they first found the fruit.”

“No,” she said. “But this might be a different group.”

“It might be the leader, this time,” Malakai added.

“Leader?” Corbin grunted.

“Everything they do is organized,” Malakai said. “Very well organized. That implies a leader—and, furthermore, a leader with superior intelligence. Or perhaps, in fact, human intelligence.”

Corbin looked like he’d eaten something sour.

“There was a guy,” he said. “He followed them out here when they first came. We thought at first he might be leading them. But he wasn’t.”

“How sure are you of that?” Malakai asked.

“Very sure,” a new voice said. Malakai looked up to see that Trumann Phillips had entered the room. “He had been the owner of one of the chimps, that’s all.”

“So you talked to him?”

“He was interviewed, yes.”

“That doesn’t rule out the possibility that they have a human leader,” Malakai said.

“No,” Phillips responded, “I suppose it doesn’t. So how are things going?”

“Some of them found the fruit a while back—six, seven maybe. They ate some of it and left. They didn’t carry any with them, so the tracking chips are still there.”

“Maybe they went and got the rest of the, what, herd?” Phillips said.

“Troop,” Clancy corrected.

“So maybe the troop is gorging on fruit salad even as we speak, every living one of them.”

“That could be,” Clancy said. “Our theory is that there is one large group of them somewhere, and several smaller bands that are foraging. Based on their behavior in the grocery stores in Mills Valley, we assumed that if they found fruit, they would bring it back to the rest—to the slower ones, the infants, the injured.”

“But that doesn’t seem to be the case, does it?” Phillips said. Then he turned. “Assemble a strike force, Corbin. Take them to where you dumped the fruit.”

“Hang on,” Corbin said, peering at the screen. “The markers are moving now. All eight of them.”

“Headed where?” Phillips asked.

“Northwest,” the mercenary said.

“They’ve been tracking generally northeast, haven’t they? Based on the bodies you’ve found, the trails, the encounters?”

“We believed they had moved to the north side of Mount Tam,” Corbin affirmed.

“This looks more like they’re going along the steep ridge trail.” Phillips glanced questioningly at Corbin.

“We haven’t searched there,” he admitted.

“I think the trails over Mount Tam were false,” Malakai said. “Deliberate misdirection.”

Phillips took a moment to look astonished before exploding.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” he demanded. “Why hold it back until now, Mr. Youmans?”

“I voiced my opinion to Mr. Corbin, there.”

“Really?” Phillips spun on his employee. “Corbin?”

“It seemed too ridiculous to consider, sir,” Corbin replied.

Phillips stared at him icily for a moment.

“From now on you report everything, do you understand? We hired these people because they know apes. You do not know apes—you are an ape. Your job isn’t to evaluate their recommendations. It’s to report them, and, when in the field, follow them.”

“Yes, sir,” Corbin replied brusquely. His face was bright red.

Phillips turned to Clancy.

“It seems you may be right after all,” he said. “Good work.”

“How will you capture them, sir?”

Phillips blinked.

“We have an expert team,” he said. “They’ll come in by air. We have nets, tranq guns, the works. We just needed to know where they were. Now we do, thanks to you and Mr. Youmans here.”

Then he turned and left the room.

Corbin, still red-faced, rose to carry out his orders.

“Come on, experts,” he said. “You’re riding along.”

“My expert advice?” Malakai said. “Don’t send any helicopters. Not until they stop. Not until we know for sure where the main group is. They can hear the choppers coming from miles away.”

The Humvee bumped along the Shoreline Highway, taking steep, hairpin turns. The evening fog was rolling in, but it didn’t obscure the view.

There were no giant trees here, but rocky, broken slopes slanting and sometimes plummeting down to where the restless sea battered against rocky cliffs and narrow shingles. Gulls swarmed in the skies like the flying rats they were, and in the distance Malakai made out the singular profiles of pelicans. It had always interested him, what a difference a few miles could make in landscape, especially when the sea and elevation were involved.

This didn’t seem at all like the sort of place that apes would feel at home and yet a short traverse from here stood some of the tallest trees in the world.

A red SUV came around the curve, half in their lane. Corbin swore and honked as the vehicle hurtled by.

“I thought all of the roads were closed,” Clancy said.

“Can’t close this one,” Corbin replied. “It’s the only way in and out of the communities along the shore. We closed the Panoramic Highway, and there’s been plenty of hell raised over that. Hopefully we’ll get this whole mess mopped up pretty soon and get out of here.”

Corbin glanced at his GPS and suddenly slammed on the brakes, just before a car pullover. There was a brown sign informing them that this was where the Steep Ravine Trail began—or ended. The trail led up a steep hill thick with small trees and shrubs, becoming low scrub as it climbed. Beyond the hill, only sky was visible from this vantage.

“That’s the trail up there,” Corbin said, presumably for those who couldn’t read.

He popped the door open and stepped out, tranq rifle in hand. He scanned the hill above.

Trying to still his heavy breathing, Caesar watched the car stop, and the man get out. He concentrated on keeping still, on making even his thumping heart less noisy. If the man came over—if he took four steps—the shrub Caesar hid behind wouldn’t conceal him anymore.

The other humans weren’t paying much attention. They were talking to each other. He could hear them clearly. He watched the man with the gun, and he listened.

“I don’t know,” Flores said as Corbin took a step toward the trail. “About getting this over with. I mean, we might be safer up here, what with the plague and all.”

“Plague?” Clancy asked.

“Some damn virus,” Flores went on. “It’s killed like a few thousand people in San Fran. Seems like it’s pretty nasty. People start bleeding out of their noses, and the next thing you know they’re dead.”

“When did this begin?” Malakai asked.

“Just a couple of days ago. It just sort of started.”

“Sounds like Ebola,” Malakai said.

“Yeah, they’re comparing it to that. Except it’s a lot easier to get than Ebola.”

“That’s a weird coincidence,” Clancy said.

“Weird?” Flores said. “It’s more than that—it’s scary as shit.”

“No,” Clancy said. “It’s weird that the escape of a bunch of apes would coincide with the onset of an epidemic, especially an epidemic that resembles Ebola.”

“Why?”

“Well, because some scientists think Ebola, like AIDS, got into the human population from animals, and specifically non-human primates.”

“You mean we’re chasing the plague?” Flores said, his voice getting higher.

“Probably not,” Clancy said. “I’m just thinking out loud.”

But that would explain a lot, Malakai thought. A whole lot.

Like why the stores he had called had all had break-ins. In an epidemic, people panicked. They hoarded food and medicine. And if there was a link between the apes and the epidemic—if the apes were carrying it—it would explain the presence of Anvil, the secrecy, all of it.

“Talk a little louder,” Corbin snapped. “Maybe the apes haven’t heard you yet.”

“I don’t know about you,” Flores said, “but I don’t see anywhere you could hide three hundred apes right there. Maybe one or two.”

Corbin frowned and began to walk toward the trailhead, but he hadn’t gone more than another step before he glanced down at the locator.

“Crap,” he swore. “We missed them, somehow. They’re still going. And still headed northwest. They’ve already crossed our perimeter.”

“Headed to Seattle maybe?” a soldier named Kyung joked.

“No,” Corbin said. “But there are pockets of redwood forest all along the coast. God, if they get up to Sonoma County, we’ll never find them.”

“Can they do that?” Malakai asked.

“They would have to cover a lot of open ground, and cross a bunch of roads,” Corbin said. He looked back uneasily at the hill hunkering over them. “But we’ve closed some of those roads, and evacuated some of the homes. If they’re moving by night –” he glanced back at his tablet “– they could be headed for the Point Reyes seashore—the ridges are in forest. But surely someone would see them.”

Then he climbed back in the car and stepped on the gas, a determined look on his face. The Humvee lurched onward. Malakai kept his eye on the stark line between hill and sky.

Still breathing hard, Caesar watched the man get back in the big car. In a moment, it moved on, following the pickup truck, the truck into which he had, moments before, tossed the white rectangles as it slowed for the curve near his hiding place.

When it was clear, he hurried back up and over the hill, racing into the sheltering leaves of the forest. But his mind was busy, stirring around all he had just heard. He knew what disease was. Will had been trying to cure a disease, the one that was hurting Charles. It sounded as if many humans were dying of this new disease. And they seemed to think it had something to do with his troop.

He remembered the people fighting at the market. Was it because they were sick? Will’s father sometimes acted very strangely because of his illness. He didn’t mean to. Caesar remembered the time the man in the house next door had screamed at Charles and grabbed him, pushed and threatened him. That was when Caesar went to protect Charles, and bit the other man, and was sent to the shelter.

Had the man been angry at Charles because he was sick and acting strangely? Or was he afraid? And why did they think the apes brought the disease? There were injured in his troop, but that was different from sick. None of them were sick.

But it meant something. Whether it was good or bad, he did not know.

Delores Park was normally a pretty lively place, but today it was mostly empty. A few brave or deluded parents had brought their kids to the playground. A young couple lay on a blanket, flying a kite shaped like a sailing ship. An old man was walking his dog.

So it wasn’t hard to spot the red-headed woman in the green sweater, standing between the playground and Delores Street. As he approached she smiled uncertainly at him. She wore a white filter mask and carried a leather satchel.

“Are you…?” she asked, when he was close enough to hear her through the muffle of her mask.

“David Flynn,” he said.

She looked around nervously.

“What are you worried about?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“It’s just… You weren’t the first person to come looking for Linda,” she said. “Someone searched her apartment. They took her computer and some other things. They didn’t know she had left it with me.”

She handed him the satchel.

“She already knew she was sick, you see. One of the men on her team, he was the first to die.”

“The first to die at Gen Sys?”

“No. The first to die of the virus, period.”

For a moment all he could do was stand there, stunned.

“You mean in the world?” he said. “How do you know?”

“It’s all in there,” she replied. “She was going to come back for it and get it to the press. But she didn’t come back. I was afraid, so I held on to it. Then you called.” She looked down. “I have to leave,” she said.

“I really am sorry for your loss,” he said. “You’ve done a brave thing. The right thing.”

“What else should a big sister do?” she said, smiling briefly.

She turned and began to walk, then to run. He watched her go, and realized he didn’t even know her name. She had almost reached the street when she stumbled and fell. He started toward her involuntarily, and then checked himself, knowing she would rise long before he could reach her.

Except she didn’t get back up.

He started trotting toward her. Had she hit her head on something?

But when he reached her he saw the blood, and how much there was of it, and he knew she hadn’t just stumbled.

“Easy,” someone said from behind him. “Turn around, slowly.”

Mayor House looked—more than anything—tired, as he took the podium. Dreyfus noticed that he wasn’t wearing a mask or respirator this time. His campaign was apparently adjusting.

He cleared his throat.

“Good morning,” he said. He took a sip of water. “I’m here today to clear up a few misconceptions that have been getting a lot of press lately. There has been so much nonsense thrown around, I’m not sure where to start.

“The so-called ‘monkey problem’ is well in hand. The idea that hundreds of them survive is purest fantasy. The few that remain will be captured or humanely euthanized in the next twenty-four hours.

“That’s all that I have to say about that. That’s all there is to say about it.

“As to the more relevant and serious matter of the virus,” he continued, “we are moving with all due speed to mitigate the situation. Quarantine and isolation treatment areas have been set up by the CDC and the National Guard, in order the give the greatest number of infected persons maximum medical attention, and to keep those who might be infected from spreading the virus until they’ve been cleared by the CDC.

“I’m sure you’re all aware that this problem extends far beyond our city. This morning I’ve been informed that the governor has invoked martial law and requested federal disaster relief. We’re doing everything—and, I repeat, everything—we can to fight this plague. As to you, the citizens of this great city, I ask that you work with law enforcement to keep things running as smoothly as possible in this time of crisis. If you’re told to report for quarantine, under law, you must do so. You will be there for a few days at worst. Indeed, quarantine is probably the safest place you could be right now. So if you think you’ve been exposed, please, do what’s best for all of us, and obey the law.

“Only by adhering to these time-tested procedures do we have any chance of slowing this thing down.”

He looked around, a bit uncertainly, Dreyfus thought. Then he cleared his throat.

“I would like to take a moment for us to all pray together.” He looked to one side. “Pastor Dubois, if you would…?”

Dreyfus switched the channel. He didn’t have any interest in what Pastor Dubois might or might not have to say.

He landed on one of the cable “news” talk shows, where a red-faced man was holding forth to the host. Dreyfus thought he recognized the guest as a national talk-radio personality.

“…an engineered situation,” the man was saying. “The virus was made in a laboratory by the US government. That’s for damned sure. We know they’ve been working on these biological weapons for years, plus we’ve got everything Saddam Hussein was working on. Why were there no WMDs? Because we took them all.” He leaned forward and used both hands for emphasis.

“I find it interesting—very interesting—that not a single member of the President’s cabinet or the leadership of his party has contracted this disease.”

“I’m sure they’re all being very careful,” the host said.

“How could they be careful about a disease they didn’t know about in advance? The speaker of the house has it. Besides, they don’t have to be careful.”

“You’re saying there’s an antidote,” the host said.

“Damn straight there is. They made it. They wouldn’t release it until they made some sort of inoculation or antiviral, or whatever they call it.” He mopped his sweaty forehead and went on. “It’s also a proven fact that the virus disproportionately affects Caucasians. Once this plague has killed off what few real Americans remain, those who endure will find themselves under permanent martial law—in a totalitarian state that Stalin could have only dreamed of.”

“So you’re saying the people at Argo ranch were justified in shooting the FBI agents?”

“Patriots like Ted Durham and his followers are the only hope we have left. And there are more of them—of us—than you think. Some of us have been preparing for this day for a long time. They tried to use the threat of terrorism to suppress our liberties, but that didn’t work. Now they’ve shown their true colors, shown exactly what depravity they will stoop to. Look at what’s happening right here—they call them ‘quarantines,’ but everybody knows they’re death camps.

“Nobody that goes into one of those places comes out. Everyone, everyone that hears the sound of my voice, I call on you to resist. If you have a gun, load it. If you don’t, get one. Fight the tyranny!”

“Oh, shit,” Dreyfus said.

The Argo ranch thing had happened just yesterday, in western Washington State. A reputed militia group had shot at local law enforcement, killing a sheriff and two deputies. The FBI had been sent in and was also fired upon. Now Guard troops had surrounded the place. A similar incident was unfolding in Idaho, although the scale seemed to be smaller.

“Why are they wasting their time on nut jobs out in the boondocks?” Patel wondered aloud.

“They won’t for long,” Dreyfus predicted. “They won’t have the manpower. There’s going to be a lot more of this, people turning on each other—but also banding together.”

“And not in a good way,” his aide added.

Dreyfus shrugged.

“Those guys have a common enemy. They believe they know who’s responsible for their troubles, for everything they think is wrong, and they have a plan for what to do about it. It’s better than ‘every man for himself’.”

“But they’re wrong,” Patel objected. “It’s absurd—the notion that the government did this.” Then he stared at his boss. “Are you suggesting we get behind them, or mimic these claims?”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” Dreyfus said. “We need a strategy that unifies everyone, not just people with similar political persuasions. A real common enemy.”

“Wouldn’t that be the virus?”

“No, a disease doesn’t have a face unless you give it one, and everyone is giving it a different face. The fringe right blames the government. The left says it’s the multinational corporations to blame. I’ve heard the claim that it’s God’s punishment for our hedonistic ways—it started in San Francisco, you see. I’ve heard that it’s Gaia, the Earth Mother, punishing us for pollution, or that it’s the virus that killed the dinosaurs, and that it was frozen in polar ice until global warming let it out.

“No, there are too many theories,” he said. “We need a common story.”

“And what would that be?” Patel asked.

“Damned if I know,” Dreyfus said. “Although knowing the truth might be a good start.”

Thank you, Maurice signed, before dipping his fingers into the soft flesh of the durian. I was very hungry.

You’re welcome, Koba acknowledged, feeling a prickle of some emotion he didn’t recognize. It felt good, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. Or better put, he wasn’t sure he could trust it. He had never been given anything that hadn’t been taken away.

Except pain.

Maurice ate with a deliberation that was hard to understand, as if each taste of the food was important to him. As if getting it into his belly quickly so that no one else could take it wasn’t the main objective.

Maurice noticed Koba watching, and offered him a finger full.

Try.

Koba took the durian doubtfully and placed it into his mouth. It smelled bad. To his surprise, however, the taste was good. A little like a rotten banana.

I see you remembering, Maurice said. Eyes go funny. You shake.

This happens to you? Koba wanted to know.

To me, yes. To all of the apes that breathed Caesar’s mist.

The mist makes us remember?

Makes us smarter, Maurice said. Being smarter makes us remember.

Koba thought about that for a moment. He had known something else was happening to him, without being able to say what it was. Smarter? For him, that word had to do with learning tricks, or using sign. And now that he thought about it, he was using sign differently than he used to. Better.

Not true of big caterpillars, he told Maurice.

Big caterpillars?

From zoo.

Maurice’s throat suddenly swelled. Koba wasn’t sure what it meant. But it felt dangerous, and he skipped back a bit.

Don’t call them that! Maurice said. They are apes, like you, like me. Not as smart maybe, not know sign maybe, but still apes. Apes together—strong. Like Caesar says.

Koba gaped, taken aback by the usually gentle ape’s show of anger. The big caterpillars were apes?

But of course they were. They just hadn’t been taught sign like he had. But they could learn it, as he had. Now that it was pointed out to him, it seemed so obvious, and he felt stupid for not understanding earlier.

Apes together strong, he signed, feeling a sort of heat go through him. He remembered riding on top of a rolling machine as they approached the big bridge, Koba side by side with Caesar, Maurice, and Buck—the gorilla who died saving them all from Jacobs. He remembered that feeling. Together.

Caesar says this? he asked. Why?

Because it’s true, Maurice replied.

Yes, Koba said. Caesar is right. I understand now.

He wasn’t sure he did, but the concept left him almost gasping. It wasn’t just about respect for Caesar, loyalty to Caesar—it was about respect and loyalty to all apes. Even the ones who couldn’t sign.

All of his life he had felt almost as if he had a weight on one side of him that made him walk crooked. That weight was all of the things humans had done to him, and the hatred that came from that. For the first time in his life, he suddenly felt the possibility of a burden on his other side, too—one that would balance him, let him walk straight.

Even the possibility felt good.

What do you remember? he asked Maurice.

I was circus ape, Maurice said. I did tricks.

I did tricks, Koba said. Not for circus. For little pictures.

Not understand.

Koba tried to explain. After a while, Maurice scratched his head.

We had little screens in our prison, he said. Had small humans. Sometimes apes. Maybe I saw you.

Why did they do this? Koba wondered. Make us do tricks for them, wear clothes?

Humans think apes funny when they act like stupid humans, Maurice explained.

Why? Koba asked.

It took so long for Maurice to answer that Koba thought that he had refused to do so, or had forgotten the question, perhaps lost in a reverie of his own. But finally the orangutan lifted his hands.

I think maybe they hate themselves, he said.

After a time, Koba left, and Maurice was once again alone. Beautifully, wonderfully alone. He ate a little more of the durian, feeling warm inside, more content than he had felt in a long time. He listened to the forest, the quiet breath of the wind, to the singing stars of his own thoughts, the questions forming there, elegant connections between this and that thing that he had somehow never noticed before.

The feel of bark on his fingers was a luxury he had never imagined. That was an added thing. But he also reveled in absence. The absence of people looking at him, poking at him, yelling at him.

A deep part of him wanted permanent solitude, and at first—just after they left the city—he had thought to strike out on his own. He could explain Caesar’s vision to Koba well enough, but part of him resisted the idea of living together with so many apes.

And yet it seemed to him that resisting an instinct was sometimes the only way to move forward. To improve. To understand. And there was so much more he wanted to understand. More than that, he owed Caesar his freedom, and all of this, even these small opportunities to be by himself. Whatever else happened, he owed Caesar his support, his presence, anything he could provide.

So he did not mind when he saw Caesar approaching.

A good trick, he told Caesar.

A trick that nearly got me killed, Caesar replied. A trick that won’t work again.

There are always new tricks, Maurice told him.

Caesar seemed agitated. He was better than most chimps at keeping still, but the tension in his body betrayed him. Still, Maurice waited for him to speak. It wouldn’t do to hurry him.

While I was hiding, I heard the humans talking, Caesar said finally.

Maurice focused his attention on Caesar’s account of the disease, and how humans thought apes had something to do with it.

If they think we have this sickness, why come after us, Caesar asked.

Maurice thought somehow there might be a connection to the question Koba had asked him a little while ago—the one about why humans made apes act like foolish humans—but the connection was dim in the constellation of his new thoughts. He would have to work on that later, when he was alone.

Don’t know, he replied, instead. But this might be good.

How? Caesar wondered.

If enough of them die, maybe they will forget about us. That would be a very good thing.