Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: The Official Movie Novelization (2 page)

Gas station
. That’s what Will had called them.

The inside of that gas station would not even keep out rain anymore. Apes avoided it, as they avoided most other places where humans had once gathered in large numbers. The forest was their home.

The troop crossed a shallow, rocky stream that fed into the river just beyond the gas station. Then the ground started to rise. Ahead of them, wreathed in fog, was the base of a high ridge. Caesar rode a little faster, but not so fast that the walking apes had to drop to all fours. It was important to them that they were able to stay on two feet.

They climbed through the fog. It swallowed the world, baffling the apes’ ears and filling their noses. The ground beneath their feet and the closest boulders and trees were the only things they could see. The rain stopped when they turned away from the river, and around them the forest was quiet… until he heard the sound of a small waterfall ahead. That low rumble, signaling the approach to home, was one of Caesar’s favorite sounds.

Cornelia would be there.

The fog began to clear as they climbed the base of the ridge and felt a wind coming down from above. It always did, late in the day. Caesar tilted his head back and sniffed. The wind brought the smell of just-after-rain, and with it the scent of their fellow apes. His horse clip-clopped out of the fog and Caesar smiled.

He always did when he saw what the apes had built together.

Their home, which lay behind a wall of timbers and a heavy gate, spiraled around the flanks of the mountain. It was a place made for them.

Apes looked over the walls and hung from the timbers higher up the mountain, hooting out excited welcomes as they watched the troop approach. The noise increased as news of the hunting party’s return spread.

Caesar and the other older apes had spent their lives in human cities, human buildings, human laboratories. This place was unlike any of them. There was a central open area anchored by a large fire pit. Around it scattered clusters of huts and lean-tos followed the natural shape of the mountain’s slopes, continuing along the edge of a steep canyon bridged by fallen trees. The sound of the river rushing through the bottom of the canyon rose and fell with the seasons. The torrent was high now, too high to cross even on horseback, the rocks on either side slick with spray and moss.

The village was united by a network of paths along the ground and timbers in the air, running from higher slopes to the branches of larger trees that grew within the walls. Those trees, which served as lookout posts and homes, were connected to each other by woven grass ropes and swinging bridges.

As he always did when he surveyed the village, Caesar felt a quiet pride at what the apes had done together. Chimp and orangutan, gorilla and bonobo and gibbon, all turned to see what their leader had brought them. The younger apes ran and scampered in excited circles, dodging too close to the horses until Koba signed and shouted for them to get back. Then they chased each other, the thrill of the occasion too much for them to handle.

The troop arrived in the center of the village, near the fire pit. Gorillas knuckle-loped over, seeing the elk and the bear. Two of them could carry an elk or a full-grown brown bear. Once, on the other side of this mountain, Caesar had killed a smaller black bear. The gorilla with him had draped the dead creature over its shoulders and walked back to the camp as easily as if it had been carrying a baby. Caesar was stronger than most chimps—and any human—but a gorilla could tear him limb from limb. They were fearsome when their tempers were hot, though that seldom happened.

Maurice hooted and grumbled at the scrambling children. They looked over at him, standing next to a stone wall, and the old orangutan gestured for them to come back and pay attention. The young ones did so, then settled down and picked up flat stones and pieces of charred wood. Maurice pointed at the wall, picking out each letter of the words carved there.

To help the children, and those of the older apes who had never learned to read, pictograms accompanied the words. In the first, two apes faced each other, teeth bared. A harsh diagonal line slashed through both of them. The translation was written next to the picture.

APE WILL NOT KILL APE.

Caesar had not wanted to use so human a symbol, but it was better than any he could think of. An open book with the alphabet showing on its pages appeared to one side of the second line, and on the other side there was a clenched ape fist.

KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.

The same symbol was repeated at the end of the third line, but below the open book lay a careful carving of the four kinds of great apes, arms linked together.

APES TOGETHER STRONG.

Every young ape learned how to write. It was another human thing Caesar had not wanted to copy, but writing was a powerful tool no matter who it came from. Apes were stronger for it. Maurice, a natural teacher, kept the children focused on each letter in turn. The older ones, impatient, were given whole words to copy.

Caesar thought back to the first time he had seen Maurice sign. At that moment he realized he wasn’t the only one in the shelter who could do it, and knowing it had given him hope. More than any other ape who had fought with him in those days, Maurice was his trusted friend.

Two gorillas pulled the bear off the sled. Near them, Blue Eyes got down from his horse, slowly, watching the gorillas carry the bear away to be butchered. Ash skipped through the crowd and grinned at Blue Eyes’ wounds.

He never would’ve gotten me
, Ash signed.
But I’m quicker than you.

Blue Eyes shoved him away, but he too was smiling. Ash shoved back, playfully—then both of them stopped when Rocket came around from the other side of the sled and signed at them.

What are you standing around for? Go help with the horses
.

Ash ducked his head and hurried away. Caesar watched his son, trying to judge how badly he was hurt from how he acted when he didn’t know his father was watching. It looked as if he would be all right, but someone would have to see to his wounds to clean them, at least.

Past Blue Eyes, Caesar saw a female chimp named Sparrow come from deeper in the village, rushing toward the hunting party. She was plainly alarmed, pushing other apes aside in her hurry. Caesar’s own alarm grew. She was headed for him. He flipped the reins of his horse to a waiting gorilla and was moving toward her before she reached him.

Follow me
, she gestured.

Cornelia
, Caesar thought.

A path along the edge of the canyon led up to the base of a massive oak tree. Beyond it lay an open grassy area enclosed by a timber wall, and beyond that a high meadow spread along the mountain’s upper flank. From the head of the path, an ape could look down on the village, and even further down to the bridges spanning the canyon and the rushing water below.

The oak marked Caesar’s home, which was built into its branches. Its lower part faced the canyon, overhung by a roof worked into the branches and braced by a timber floor just barely too high for an ape to leap up and grip. Ascending through the tree were other parts of Caesar’s dwelling, but it was to the lower section he ran now, ducking from the path into the tunnel dug among the tree’s roots. He came out of the tunnel and climbed the trunk, then swung around and landed on the floor inside.

All the while the sound of Cornelia’s screams spurred him on.

Other apes followed him. He could hear them in the tree’s branches, too, and see their anxious faces peering through the walls and roof. Many of them were children, running away from Maurice’s lesson to see what this new excitement was about. Now they were frightened by the sound of Cornelia’s pain.

So was Caesar.

His eyes adjusted to the gloom in the deeper part of the room, against the trunk. Cornelia lay on the bed he had made for her, years before when he had selected this tree for his own… and hers. Other female apes surrounded her, stroking her forehead and grooming her hair.

She shrieked, longer and louder than before, the sound digging into Caesar’s ears until he wanted to hit something. He held himself still, watching her bare her teeth and draw another breath to scream again. He was more frightened now than he had been facing the bear. There he had looked an enemy in the eye, but here there was no enemy to fight. She would either survive the birth, or she would not.

Caesar could do nothing.

Cornelia drew a series of whistling breaths. If she knew Caesar was there, she gave no sign. None of the other females looked at him, either. She breathed in more deeply and shrieked one more time, even longer than before. Two of the other females moved to shield her from Caesar’s view.

So they do know I am here
, he thought in the midst of his anxiety.

The scream went on, becoming a growl and finally trailing off into shallow panting.

In the sudden quiet Caesar heard a tiny squeak. His heart jumped. He took a step forward as the females parted, and he watched one of them place the tiny newborn on Cornelia’s chest. It was slick and wet, all fingers and toes. She gathered it in and brought it to her breast to nurse. It squeaked again, twice, and then grew quiet as it found the nipple and began to suck.

Caesar took another step. The attending females groomed the blood and fluid out of Cornelia’s fur and cleaned the bed around her. She looked up at him, then down again to the newborn. He approached and settled next to her, stroking her head. When he bent to kiss the tiny newborn, its fingers spread and then clenched into fists again, holding tight to Cornelia’s hair.

From outside came the grunts and hoots of the children. Their light steps pattered back and forth across the roof. He heard the news of the birth relayed through the camp, followed by an outbreak of excited shrieking. Every birth was celebrated.

Movement from the open side of the dwelling made Caesar look up. He saw Blue Eyes, hesitant to enter, and beckoned him in. He came slowly to join them. Cornelia hooted a quiet greeting and smiled at him. His answering smile was nervous and wondering as he saw the newborn. Caesar saw him again for what he was: a child still, and growing into himself. The anger he had felt in the forest left him.

He rested a hand on Blue Eyes’ shoulder. The three of them breathed together, and realized they were breathing in unison with the newborn. They looked at one another, and smiled.

Later that night, the celebration had taken over the entire village. The birth brought joy to the apes, as did all births, and especially that of a strong healthy child born to their leader.

They also celebrated the hunt. Haunches of elk roasted on spits over the fire as the sun set. Apes drummed and danced, the sound of the beats echoing from the canyon walls. Caesar and Cornelia sat on a ledge looking over the fire pit and the gathering, Blue Eyes and some of their closest friends nearby. She wore a crown of wildflowers picked by her midwives, and cradled the newborn, who slept the way only newborns could sleep.

Beside them was a tribute pile, offerings from the rest of the troop—flowers to adorn, pelts to warm, food to enjoy and sustain. Caesar looked at Cornelia and smiled. He had been unable to stop smiling all day. The tension and anger from the end of the morning hunt was all but forgotten.

Below them the gathering parted and three apes appeared, bearing to Caesar yet another gift. They carried the head and pelt of the bear, walking slowly through the crowd and up to the proud parents. Caesar watched them approach. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Blue Eyes’ expression change. The young ape touched his wounds, and looked away.

The three apes laid the pelt before Caesar and set the head next to it. They knelt and lowered their heads, extending one hand each, palm up. He answered the supplication, swiping each of their palms with his own. Then, as they stood, he embraced all three, one after the other. His leadership was unquestioned, but these were more than his subjects, and he was not just their leader. Every ape in the village—brown, black or orange, young or old—they were all his family.

He picked up the bear pelt, felt its weight. A pelt like this was a rare treasure. Caesar stood and carried it to the other side of the fire, where Koba sat with Grey and Stone and others close to him.

Koba saw him coming and rose to meet him. Caesar ducked his head briefly, showing respect but not supplication, and offered Koba the pelt. He saw the emotion on his friend’s scarred face. Affection was still strange to Koba, who had seen so much cruelty. The two apes looked at each other for a long moment. Koba took the pelt and they embraced. Every ape in the village watched.

Caesar broke the embrace and picked up a branch from the kindling piled at the edge of the pit. He held it up and broke it. Then he broke the two pieces into four. Holding the four pieces in both fists, he raised them above his head.

“Apes… together… strong,” he said.

There was a moment of absolute silence from the assemblage, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant rush of the river. Then the apes erupted in a thunder of screams, cheering Caesar and themselves. Together, yes, they were strong. Amid the cacophony, Caesar could hear some of the other apes doing what many of them found so difficult.

“
Ape
,” they said. They grunted it, shrieked it, growled it. “
Ape. Ape. Ape
.”

Late in the night, most apes were asleep. The drums had gone quiet. Blue Eyes and some of the other young ones were tamping down the fire. They packed earth over it rather than drowning it, wanting to keep coals alive for the next day.

Koba watched Caesar’s son. A strong one, but Blue Eyes did not know how strong he was because he saw himself as nothing but a weak shadow of his father. Koba knew what it was like to be in Caesar’s shadow.

He went to Blue Eyes, who looked up at his approach. When Blue Eyes saw the bear pelt under Koba’s arm, he looked down and away, shamed all over again.

Koba reached out to tap the youngster, and get him to look up again.