Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: The Official Movie Novelization

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Carver was so far past his boiling point that he was practically steaming out the ears. All he’d done, keeping the trucks running, making sure Lord Architect Ape-Lover got all of his gear up into the mountains, busting his ass trying to help get water running and power on for all the people in the Colony who still thought they were better than him… and he was kicked off the island. Because that’s what the lead monkey wanted.

“Bullshit,” he said, for maybe the tenth time since he and Foster had left. And speaking of bullshit, Foster was treating him like he was the bad guy, too. He’d thought they were friends, but now he knew Foster was just another monkey-lover.

“Watch,” he said as they trudged out of the woods to where the trucks were parked. “You guys go up there and get that dam working, and the next thing you know a million monkeys are going to show up and take everything they want. They’ll see how the power works, and—” He made a throat-cutting gesture. “Then you’ll know I was right.”

Foster didn’t say anything. He held onto Carver’s arm until they reached the lead truck. Then he opened the door and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Carver limped past him and sat in the front seat. Foster shut the door.

“See you tomorrow, asshole,” he said through the open window, taunting Carver with the keys. “Enjoy your stay.”

Carver flipped him off. Foster just smirked and pocketed the keys as he walked away toward the camp.

Carver sat for a minute, considering the possibilities. He could hot-wire the truck in sixty seconds flat, and be back in San Francisco by nightfall. Without Malcolm, he could get the people good and worked up. He knew there were plenty of guns over at the old Navy base. It wouldn’t take much to get folks picking them up.

The only downside was that he would look bad for running out on everyone. No way was he going to be the bad guy in this situation. Maybe there was a sole-survivor angle to play. He could pretend the apes had killed them all and he had gotten away… but could he make the story stick? Probably, at least for a while. But if he raised an army and they headed back up the mountain only to find Malcolm and the monkeys still one big happy family, Carver knew he’d be in a shitstorm of trouble.

It was almost worth trying. Almost. He put the plan in his back pocket for the time being. After all, he had twenty-four hours to decide whether or not to do it. The other thing was that if trouble really did break out, and he was gone, he would feel like a jerk for having bailed on the humans. They might be monkey-lovers, but they were still his species. He couldn’t quite bring himself to run out on them, even if they were treating him like some kind of psycho just because he didn’t trust the same monkeys that had started a plague and killed most of the human race.

It’s like nobody has any common sense, he thought.

He climbed into the back of the truck so he could stretch out his bum leg. At first he’d thought it was broken for sure. Ellie had said there was no displaced fracture, and Carver was already feeling a little better. It hurt like hell, but it could hold his weight. That would come in handy if he had to make a run for it. He propped himself on a jump seat and got out some jerky and his canteen.

Looking at the canteen, he thought, If I hadn’t gone to fill you up, none of this would have happened.

Except it would have, sooner or later. The apes weren’t just going to stay in their dens forever, any more than the humans were going to hide behind the Colony’s walls. Contact was inevitable. So, Carver thought, was conflict.

That was the thought uppermost in his mind when he heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves hitting stone. He craned around to look out the window and saw three apes on horseback. Leaning closer to see if he recognized any of them, Carver got a chill when one of the apes looked right at him. It was the one-eyed one, the one who seemed to feel the same way about humans as Carver did about apes.

The one-eyed chimp looked surprised to see a human in the truck. He looked at Carver like he was meat—or worse, some kind of bug.

What did I ever do to you, monkey? Carver thought. But it wasn’t about him. That chimp had suffered at human hands. Nothing else could explain the loathing in its expression. It lingered on him for a long moment, and when it turned its head and rode on with its two pals, Carver exhaled a long breath, feeling like someone had just walked over his grave.