Battle For The Planet Of The Apes (10 page)

Doctor bit her lip. She touched Cornelius now with gentle hands. Her voice was very soft amidst the murmur of apes and humans. “I think we’d better make a litter and carry him home.”

As she rose and turned away, her face was marked with hopelessness. Caesar and Lisa didn’t see it, and when Doctor turned back, her expression was more controlled. “I need some branches and a couple of shirts,” she said and moved out to start picking some up.

MacDonald began picking up branches too. One branch in particular. He examined it closely.

His eyes narrowed. The break was too clean. Too sharp. There were hack marks in the wood.

Beneath him were the red embers of a campfire. The fire had been hurriedly and not completely extinguished. MacDonald kicked at them thoughtfully, suspiciously. He looked up again at the tree and frowned.

Behind him, the apes began to carry Cornelius home.

Lisa sat, almost in a trance, beside Cornelius’ bed. Caesar sat nearby, his face in his hands. On the bed, Cornelius tossed and moaned.

Doctor stepped into the room. She sat down beside Cornelius, examined him, took his pulse, and tried to look like she was doing something helpful. As she rose to leave the room, Lisa followed her.

The chimpanzee touched the woman’s arm. “Tell me the truth,” she said calmly.

Lisa looked up at Doctor. Her face was so open and so trusting. Doctor said slowly, “He’s all . . . broken up inside.” Her throat tightened as she went on. “Even if we had a hospital . . .” She tried to finish the sentence, but couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come.

Lisa accepted it. Her large brown eyes remained clear, her manner firm. She touched Doctor’s cheek gratefully. Doctor returned the touch. There was love and understanding between them.

Then the moment was over, and Lisa was turning sadly back to her son’s room.

“Will you tell Caesar?”

Lisa stopped. “No. Not yet.” She wore a strange little smile. “He still believes he can change the future.” She went in to her husband and her child. She walked like a queen, determined and erect.

Far off, across the desert, the ruined city was coming to life. Ghouls that once were men were again walking the earth. Like the dead returning to life, like corpses climbing out of their graves, they were an army of living dead, echoes of a savage past.

Ghost trucks. Ghost uniforms. Ghost weapons. An ancient jeep and a mutant driver. A 105mm recoilless rifle, rusty and corroded, dangerous to fire, mounted on the back of the vehicle. Ammunition, cases of it, stacked around the mountings.

A troop carrier truck with torn and sagging canvas hanging on its sides. Shapeless men in shapeless uniforms. Red goggles, high black hats, scarred faces. Gleaming guns.

Motorcycles, several of them. Battered and dirty. Sputtering motors, loose, rattling chains, grinding gears.

A school bus. Incongruous. Listing to one side. Covered with dirt and dust.

A sagging black Cadillac from an unremembered year. Tail fins. Shattered rear window. Dented grill. Dirt.

Troops. Unable to bear light. Goggles, glasses, protective visors. Uniforms—not only military but postal, doorman, police. Weapons—rifles, pistols, shotguns, clubs, scythes, hoes, machetes.

Radio messages: “Keep all emergency channels open.”

“Yes, Mr. Kolp. All emergency channels open.”

“Remember, Alma. Remember our signal.”

“Yes, Mr. Kolp.” A sigh. “I remember.”

And motion. A sense of direction. Imperceptible at first, then a nudge, a gesture, a step, a movement. An order: “Let’s get moving!” A gathering of energy, a beginning of a feeling, a flowing, building wave, a surging crashing vector of savagery.

Explosion of action! Motorcycles were stamped to life. Engines coughed, then caught, then roared. The caverns smelled of carbon monoxide. The old metal came alive, sputtering, clattering, and banging. The walls echoed with mounting excitement and noise—shouting, screaming, rumbling, battering, moving, climbing waves of energy roaring upward, out of the tunnels, out of the city!

And into the cold, cold desert. The night was black, the sky speckled with stars. Clouds of choking dust, clogging sand, slogging troops. The night was filled with the clatter of motors. The old engines choked and stuttered and missed, coughed and gasped and occasionally died, then coughed again and lumbered magically back to life.

An army of Lazaruses, they marched across the cold, glassy sand, a rag-tag gaggle of black-clad zombies. The vengeance of a dead city advancing toward the apes.

The sun peeked over the horizon behind them and began climbing up into the sky.

The desert began to warm up.

Within hours the glaring sun and the hot, reflecting sand had begun to take their toll. The desert heat was lethal.

The mutants sweated in their shabby uniforms, and the smell of their unwashed bodies was incredible. They moved in a cloud of stench that heralded their coming for miles, a stench of carbon monoxide, sweat, excrement, and decay.

Their vehicles limped across the desert. The engines rattled and popped, and occasionally one would pull out of the column and chug to a painful stop. When that happened—and it happened often—the mutants would abandon it, sorting themselves out into the remaining trucks and cars and jeeps.

Kolp raged and swore. He cursed and railed and lashed out at his men. Kolp was their fear, their anger, the fiery red hatred of a lumbering black beast.

The beast went rolling on.

The first apes to see the mutant army were two of Aldo’s gorillas out on patrol. They were concealed behind a sand dune, staring across the desert, when they made the sighting. “Ah,” grunted one, “look there.” He passed a spyglass to the other.

“Humans!” growled the other. He snorted contemptuously at their trucks. “They’d move faster on foot.”

The gorillas laughed.

The first gorilla pointed to the head of the advancing column. One of the black-clad figures, far in advance of the rest, had stopped to tinker with his stalled motorcycle.

The second gorilla made a noise in his throat. “Let’s show them, huh?” He drew his sword and scrambled over the dune. Keeping low, ducking between the piled sweeps of sand, he ran toward the unsuspecting soldier.

His boots pounded across the desert floor. His eyes narrowed with purpose; his nostrils flared with determination. At the last moment he uttered a throaty scream of triumph. The man just had time to look up curiously.

The gorilla came charging down on him, hacking viciously at him with his sword as he had been taught by General Aldo. The man didn’t even have time to scream—he just grunted. He crumpled slowly, a startled expression on his face.

The gorilla stood triumphantly over the dying body. He stamped his mighty feet and pounded his barrel chest. He roared and brandished his sword and shield and held them high. “Puny humans!” He screamed his defiance at the advancing column.

“Bring that gun around,” Kolp was saying. He had his field glasses up to his eyes, studying the view ahead. The distant gorilla was now giving the body a few final hacks. “Dumb animal,” muttered Kolp. “He has to demonstrate his bravery.” Satisfied, the gorilla began loping back toward his position. The muzzle of the 105mm gun tracked with him. He had almost made it back to safety when Kolp said fiercely, “Fire!”

The weapon flashed.

The gorilla—no, there were two gorillas!—vanished in a high, towering explosion. The dunes shook with the mighty roar. Sand and rocks clattered through the dust and smoke to the desert floor. The dune had been replaced by a tremendous crater.

Kolp smiled in satisfaction. He lowered his glasses and grinned. Gorillas, huh? He gestured to his gunners, and they began to reposition the 105mm for traveling.

Had he kept his glasses to his eyes just a few seconds longer, he might have seen that one of the gorillas was still alive. Battered and wounded, but alive. The gorilla moaned and began dragging himself away.

In the apes’ council room a deathwatch of humans, chimpanzees, orangutans, and one or two gorillas waited. MacDonald stood around with his hands in his pockets. Others stood or sat and muttered among themselves.

MacDonald looked up as Virgil came in. The little orangutan was shaking his head. “Doctor’s doing her best,” he said. “But I don’t believe he can live. Caesar does, though. He refuses to leave Cornelius’ side.” Virgil looked at the man. “MacDonald, how can a benevolent god allow the branch of one of his own trees to crack and cripple an innocent child?”

MacDonald said bitterly, “It didn’t crack.”

The orangutan stared at him.

“It was cut,” said MacDonald. “I picked it out of the ashes of a campfire. The ashes were still warm.”

“But who would want to hurt . . .”

There was a sudden sound at the door, and General Aldo came striding angrily into the meeting room. He was followed by two gorillas. One of them was injured and was being helped by the other.

Aldo stopped in the middle of the room and barked for order. The room quieted. The orangutans and chimpanzees moved to take their respective places at their tables. The humans followed, too.

Aldo waited until he had everyone’s total attention. Then he said, “The humans have attacked and killed one of our scout gorillas.”

The injured gorilla was helped to the center of the room. His uniform was ripped and spattered with dried blood. He moved with great pain. The chimps and orangutans reacted with consternation and confusion to Aldo’s announcement and the condition of the gorilla scout. An old female chimp, elderly and dignified, covered her eyes and bowed her head. Behind her, a young male gorilla roared in anger and pounded the table before him. The room filled with gibbering and barking.

MacDonald realized the precarious position that he and all other humans were suddenly in. He rose to his feet slowly, very self-contained. “Where did this happen?”

Aldo looked at him and glared. But the injured gorilla said, “We were scouting the desert approaches to the city when we saw the army, still far away. They fired their guns. My companion was killed. I came to warn you.” His voice was thick and uneven.

Virgil stood up then. “How long will it take them to get here?”

The scout shook his head. He didn’t know, couldn’t even guess.

Aldo spoke up. “Soon! They’ll be here soon! So we must prepare
now!
”

He turned, toward a group of uniformed gorillas, waiting at the door. He gestured at the human representatives on the council “Take all humans out. Lock them up. Now!”

The gorillas moved quickly to grab the humans. Several of the men fought back, but the gorillas were stronger. Chairs were overturned in the scuffling, and blows were exchanged. The orangutans screamed at the outrage; the chimpanzees howled for order.

MacDonald, fighting the grasp of one of the bigger gorillas, shouted, “Aldo, you can’t do this! You’re acting against Caesar’s orders.”

Aldo considered this for a moment. Then he moved over to Caesar’s desk, pulled out the chair and sat down. “Caesar is not here,” he announced.

The gorillas hustled the humans from the room. They were brutal in their handling of men and women alike, shoving them roughly out the door.

The other apes sat by, helpless, unsure of what to do without Caesar there to lead them. Virgil rose and slipped out the back door.

The orangutan moved furtively through the settlement. Everywhere there were gorillas seizing control, roughly grabbing humans and rushing them off in the direction of the livestock compounds. A woman screamed as she was accosted by a uniformed gorilla. She dropped the basket of fruit she was carrying as he grabbed her and picked her up. Apples and oranges scattered in the street, rolling across the hard-packed dirt in all directions. The gorilla half-pulled and half-carried her along. Virgil stepped back into the shadows, so as not to be seen. Then he hurried on toward Caesar’s house.

On the other side of the city, Aldo and another group of gorillas began pounding on a door. A wizened old orangutan opened a tiny grille and peeked out. “Who are you?” asked Mandemus.

“I am Aldo,” declared the gorilla.

“What do you want?”

“We want guns!”

“And what will you do with them?”

“Whatever we want!” growled the gorilla. Behind him, his apes cheered. They began battering the door with a log.

“No!” shouted Mandemus through the grille. “This is wrong! Wrong! I am the conscience of the guns! You cannot . . .”

The door gave way. The gorillas came smashing through, barking and shouting, and pushed Mandemus aside. They filled the room with their massive bodies.

“Guns!” cried Aldo. “Guns! Now we have
guns!
”

The gorillas cheered and shouted and slapped each other heavily. They began to run through the room, ripping down racks and overturning crates of ammunition. They pulled open the boxes happily, splintering the wood with sharp, cracking sounds, and passed the guns and bullets from hand to hand to hand.

“No! No!” cried Mandemus. “No! You must listen to me! This is all wrong!” He moved from gorilla to gorilla, trying to make himself heard. They ignored him; they shoved him roughly aside and kicked him into a corner, then went on with their looting.

The gorillas came streaming out of the armory, their arms filled with weapons, yelling and looking as if they were celebrating some kind of holiday. It was a holiday. It was Gorilla Independence Day. “Guns!” they shouted, running wild through the city. “Guns! Guns! We have guns! We are the masters of Ape City!”

A band of gorillas came driving a small group of human workers down the street. The workers were bound together by ropes. One gorilla was leading, jerking the rope to keep the humans moving. Other gorillas kept striking at the humans from behind with their swagger sticks. The group was moving at a rapid trot.

After they passed, Virgil peeked out from behind a bush, looking both ways. Almost immediately, he ducked back. Ape City was now completely under the control of the gorillas. Galloping down the street toward the corrals was a gorilla on horseback, pulling a running man behind him on a rope. The human tripped and was pulled down the street by the gorilla. The gorilla looked back and laughed. He kicked his horse in the ribs and urged it on to greater speed.