Battle For The Planet Of The Apes (11 page)

Virgil shook his head in sadness. All around him were the sounds of pathetic screams and cries—and the shouts of exuberant gorillas. The pudgy orangutan dashed quickly across the street to Caesar’s house.

All the shutters were closed, and when he let himself in, he had to pause because of the darkness inside. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he became aware of Lisa, Caesar, and Doctor, clustered around Cornelius’ bed. He moved to them and quietly touched Caesar’s shoulder.

Caesar looked up, puzzled. It took him a moment to recognize Virgil, a moment longer to understand the urgency of his expression. He followed Virgil into the main room.

Virgil spoke quietly and intensely. “Caesar, forgive me . . . but you
have
to come.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aldo has seized power.”

Caesar shook him away. The whole idea seemed somehow trivial. “Let him. There is no power to seize. The council is the power.” He started to turn back toward his son. “We can settle it later.”

Virgil grabbed Caesar’s arm. “Caesar! He’s passing out guns! And he’s ordered all humans to be imprisoned. The gorillas are rounding them up and driving them into the horse corral.”

Caesar frowned. “What about MacDonald?”

“He was dragged from the council room by Aldo’s gorillas.”

Caesar shook his head slowly, unable to comprehend. “But Virgil, I can’t leave my son. He needs me.”

Virgil was insistent. “Every ape and human in Ape City needs you—
now!
”

“But . . .” Caesar raised his hands helplessly. The two apes stared at each other.

A thin voice broke the impasse. From the other room, Cornelius called weakly, “Father . . .”

Caesar hurried back to his son and leaned over him.

Cornelius spoke haltingly. “They . . . hurt . . . me.”

Caesar wasn’t listening to the words, though. He touched Cornelius’ face gently. “Just relax, son.” He smiled at the tiny spark of life that was his child, happy that it was still glowing, however faintly.

“They . . . want . . . to . . . hurt you.”

Abruptly, the words registered. Cornelius was telling them that his injury was not accidental. Caesar stiffened angrily. “What? Who? Who hurt you? Humans?”

Cornelius’ eyes closed, then opened again. He answered very weakly, “No.”

“Then
who?
”

There was a long silence then, broken at last by a change in Cornelius’ labored breathing. Doctor caught her breath. “Oh, no!” She knelt closer, but there was nothing she could do. Even Caesar recognized that now.

Cornelius suddenly opened his eyes again. His mind flickered back, to a word he had heard. “Shall I be . . . malformed?” he asked.

Caesar said reassuringly, “No, my son. One day you’ll be as tall as a king.”

Cornelius smiled at the thought. The smile faded slowly on his face. His soft simian eyes closed again slowly. And didn’t reopen.

Caesar touched the little body hesitantly. “Cornelius?”

But Cornelius wasn’t there. There was nobody there at all. Just a small, broken body.

Caesar gave way to Doctor. The human woman listened for a heartbeat for a moment, then turned to Caesar and shook her head. Lisa wailed and threw herself across the bed, clutching hopelessly at Cornelius’ tiny form.

Caesar’s face twisted slowly from grief into rage. He stood up, saying, “They hurt my son. They killed him!”

Lisa continued sobbing on the bed. Caesar didn’t even hear her. He rushed from the room angrily. He was totally distracted; he looked furiously from side to side. He rushed from the house in confusion. Virgil followed him, puffing to keep up.

Caesar started heading for the horse corrals. “He said . . . they hurt him. Who?” he muttered. “Who would hurt him?”

Virgil looked at the tall chimpanzee very seriously, almost afraid to speak. “Look around you, Caesar. You’ll have your answer.”

Caesar whirled on him, shook him fiercely. “Don’t play word games with me, Virgil. What do you know?”

Virgil, shocked by Caesar’s violence, shook his head. He pointed at something behind Caesar’s back. “That. That’s what I know.”

Caesar released the paunchy little orangutan, turned and looked. Looked at the gorilla version of a concentration camp. There was a large corral. There were prisoners. There were guards. The corral had been built for horses, but the prisoners were shocked and ashen-faced humans. Many were hurt. Some were lying on the ground, moaning. One or two were completely covered by blankets, still forms on the dirt.

The guards were gorillas, massive and black in their gleaming uniforms. Like elite troops, they strutted back and forth, automatic weapons cradled proudly in their arms. Others stood firmly at the gate, booted legs spread wide in a stance of immovability.

Behind them humans stood against the wire, looking out hopelessly. A small child peering out at a small chimp peering in. A cluster of men with long, matted hair, agricultural workers, squatting and smoking and looking at the gorillas with subdued hatred and resentment. MacDonald, Teacher, and Jake, standing close against the wire, scanning the passing apes.

“Caesar! Caesar!” MacDonald shouted suddenly, recognizing the distant chimp.

Caesar heard his name called. He started forward, toward the corral. He was horrified at this outrage. And there was Aldo, parading with his soldiers! Caesar’s eyes narrowed, his lips curled back, baring his teeth. He strode angrily.

A loud, shattering explosion nearly knocked him to the ground. He caught himself and whirled to see a pillar of fire and smoke rising from the ridge behind the grove. A towering black and brown cloud that cast its shadow across the whole city. Apes were frozen in their tracks, staring at it horrified.

Caesar closed his mouth and turned to Aldo and the rest of the gorillas.

“All right, you have your guns! Now let’s see what you can do with them!”

Aldo turned from staring at the explosion and saw Caesar for the first time. “Guns, yes! We’ll kill the humans! All the humans!” He barked at his troops to follow him. Quickly, he mounted his horse, wheeled it about and began riding down the main street toward the distant sound of firing. The noise came like a sporadic popping.

The rest of the gorillas shouted in triumph and waved their rifles. “We go to kill humans!” they cried, and galloped after their leader.

The battle had begun.

Another explosion shattered the afternoon, hurling rocks and chunks of dirt into the air. It was still far off, on the ridge of the gorilla outpost, but the city apes scattered in fright and confusion.

Caesar was already shouting orders, even while the thunder of the blast was still echoing through the valley. “Pile those wagons into a roadblock! Bring them down here!”

Chimpanzees and orangutans began scurrying to drag wagons and carts out to block the main road. Caesar and Virgil grabbed one of the nearest wagons, a massive heavy vehicle, and began dragging it toward the end of the street, toward the sounds of fighting.

The humans in the corral were forgotten. They pressed against the fence, watching the battle unfold before them.

Up on the ridge, at the gorilla outpost, a frenzied gorilla was trying to get his machine gun working. He fumbled with thick fingers, trying to unjam the frustrating gun, burning his fur and his skin as he did so. A second gorilla, still holding the belt he had been feeding into the gun, watched impatiently. Around them whizzed the bullets of the other gorillas. The rifles popped loudly.

Suddenly the mechanism was clear; the gun was unjammed. The gorilla shouted happily and jumped down behind the gun again, then fell to the ground abruptly beside the gun, his eyes glazed and startled.

Another gorilla seized the handles of the gun and, stepping over the body of his comrade, swung it around to face down the slope. He began firing in short, steady bursts.

Behind him other gorillas were firing their guns. Their automatic rifles rattled with staccato precision. But the gorillas were all badly shaken. They seemed ready to bolt.

The mutants came swarming up toward them. The column of vehicles rolled easily up the hard-packed road. Only the strongest of the mutant wagons had survived the trek across the desert, and now they came lumbering up the slope toward the gorilla outpost. Mutants were piling up toward the ridge, firing their guns and screaming, throwing grenades and occasionally falling and dying as gorilla bullets smashed into them. Here and there, a mutant would tumble backward, down the hill, but the main thrust of the mutant army was forward.

The mutants kept coming. The gorillas began falling back, edging up toward the top of the ridge. As the mutants drove them upward and backward, shells from the vehicles below began falling among them, cratering holes in the hillside.

For a moment, the battle hesitated as gorillas and mutants met face to face for the first time. The gorillas drew their swords and began hacking, only to fall helpless before the mutants’ guns. And then the mutants rolled forward, onward, and upward.

The mutant army reached the crest of the ridge and teetered precariously. The gorillas were trying to make a stand.

From his jeep, far below, Kolp watched through his field glasses. His gunners kept firing the big 105mm rifle in a series of small, almost apologetic, coughs followed by massive explosions on the ridge, gouts of smoke and flame.

Suddenly the gorilla defense crumbled. The first gorilla broke and ran, followed by another and another. The mutants screamed triumphantly and chased them up the ridge and over. They poured over the crest of the hill, tossing grenades into the machine gun emplacements. The explosions hurled guns and gorillas into the air.

But then the gorilla cavalry arrived.

They came riding up from the valley below. Slowly at first, they rode four and five abreast. They came moving steadily down the road, building up speed as they headed toward the battle. They urged their horses faster and faster. They drew their swords and held them high. They screamed their challenges before them. Aldo was in the lead, shouting, “Attack! Attack! Kill all humans!”

As the cavalry roared up the road, they ran into the gorillas retreating from the ridge. They scattered before the onrushing horses. The road ahead was almost jammed with fleeing gorillas, some walking, some almost running, some helping wounded comrades. But as they heard and saw the mounted gorillas approaching, they jumped for the sides of the highway. As the cavalry passed heavily through them, they stopped, began preparing places along the road to fight again. Some turned and began following the cavalry.

Some of the mounted gorillas were shocked at the sight of their troops in retreat; but Aldo and the other leaders only shouted louder, “Attack! Attack!” They waved their swords and urged their horses faster and faster. Hooves pounded harder on the road.

Watching them from the top of the ridge, Kolp smiled grimly. He lowered his glasses and remarked, “Here comes the circus. Monkeys on horseback. Get ready for the performance!”

The cavalry reached the bottom of the slope and began pounding up toward the ridge. Great clouds of dust rose up all around them. The charging black riders came galloping upward, a mounted, moving, thundering apocalypse.

The horses labored and puffed. The gorillas kicked them upward, heedless of their foaming sides and mouths. Flecks of lather spattered the riders. Dust clogged the noses and mouths of horses and gorillas alike.

And then they topped the ridge and saw a semicircle of automatic weapons trained on them. They were riding head on into the guns of the mutants; the mutants were spread out across the top of the road.

Aldo was the first to react. “Off the road! Off the road!” he shouted. He signaled desperately for his troops to turn.

But it was too late, the cavalry had too much momentum. The riders in front were trying to wheel about; their horses were rearing in fright. The riders from the rear came piling into them; horses toppled and screamed. Hooves flailing, bridles jerking, they whinnied and turned.

And then the mutants opened fire.

The bullets slammed into the cavalry. Aldo and a few of the others managed to get out of the way of the hurtling hot lead. Aldo’s horse leapt over a fallen log and crashed through the trees. Behind him, other gorillas and horses followed.

The gorilla cavalry lost its organization. More and more riders were arriving all the time, piling into the confusion and bloodshed; horses were moving in all directions. The smell of blood panicked them even more.

“Fire!” shouted Kolp. “Fire! Kill the monkeys!”

The gunners held their fingers down on their triggers, too shocked by the carnage ahead of them to stop. Horses stumbling and screaming, gorillas falling beneath them, more riders charging up from behind them, the ones in front trying to escape, trying to get out from under and back down the hill.

“Fire!” Kolp kept shouting. “Fire! Kill the monkeys! Kill them! Kill them!”

The cavalry was trapped between charging and retreating, trapped between the automatic weapons of the mutants and their own, still arriving, rear. The cavalry died. Bloodily. Without honor. Without glory. In a savage, senseless, wasteful orgy of carnage.

They died violently. Without even the justification of having lived that way. They died for guns, and for Aldo’s game. And there was no honor in their death. Only ugliness, hate.

The gunfire began to peter out. From a steady rattle of explosions, it degenerated into recognizable bursts, and then only occasional staccato blasts. Whenever anything moved—a horse trying to get up, a gorilla moaning, an arm or a leg jerking—it was silenced by gunfire. Soon nothing moved.

For a moment, there was silence. Only the smell of smoke and guns crackling as they cooled. There were occasional distant pops, and then even those were silent. The mutants’ ears rang with the memory of the noise, and the heap of bodies steamed in the sun.

And now the road was clear.

Below, Ape City waited.

From the ridge, Kolp could see tiny figures running in and out of the trees. Chimpanzees, orangutans, and gorillas. Here and there, a horse ran riderless.