Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: The Official Movie Novelization (3 page)

I know he is hard on you
, Koba signed.
But only because he must be
.

Blue Eyes frowned at this. Koba knew that frown for what it was—a young ape feeling sorry for himself. While he understood the pressure of being Caesar’s son, Koba did not believe in pity. Not for himself, and not for others. He grunted sternly, and then signed again.

Your new brother will need you. To lead him. And someday so will the others.

At that Blue Eyes looked uncertain. Still not fully meeting Koba’s gaze, he looked up from beneath a lowered, sullen brow.

What if I’m not ready?
he signed.

You will be
, Koba answered.

The dying flow of the fire caught all the warring fear and hope, shame and frustration, in the young ape’s face. He looked much like his father. But he had not yet learned his father’s unshakable resolve. He still had need of guidance.

Koba grinned at him, feeling the time had come to ease the youngster’s mind.

Maybe next time you hunt with me
, he signed. Blue Eyes looked uncertain, as if he might not have understood what Koba meant. Koba touched the raw gashes on Blue Eyes’ chest, then signed again.
Don’t feel bad. Your scars make you stronger
.

As the idea sank in, Blue Eyes smiled a little, and looked down at himself.

Yes
, Koba added.
Females see scars, and they see a warrior.

Blue Eyes looked at him then, studying his face and the other scars splitting the thick hair of his shoulders and chest. Koba had earned them all, and he carried them proudly. Even his dead eye was a source of pride to him. He had fought, he had survived.

Now he saw what he had wanted to see from the beginning. Blue Eyes admired him.

Yes
, Koba thought.
Admire your father because he is your father. Admire Koba because Koba is strong.
He turned and walked slowly away toward his dwelling, keeping his body turned so the bear pelt stayed in the firelight, visible to Blue Eyes for as long as possible.

Caesar led the apes. It was right that Caesar led the apes. But it was also right for apes to see Koba as strong. He could also lead.

The village was quiet the next day, as it always was after a celebration. Apes slept and rested, their bellies full and their minds at ease.

Cornelia, exhausted, slept most of the day, the newborn cradled to her breast. Caesar stayed near enough to hear them but not so near that he would disturb her. In his hand he held a pair of stones, using one to carve the other, then smooth its rough edges.

He found himself thinking of the years just past, the desperation of their escape from the human city and then the slow disappearance of the humans themselves. It was natural to think about the past when a child was born, he thought. The past had brought them to where they were, to this moment where he had two children whose future would be his greatest concern, for as long as he lived. All apes were his family, but only Cornelia, Blue Eyes, and the new son were his blood.

Caesar had gotten them off to a good start. He would lead the apes until he was no longer able, and then his children and their children would spread over the world.

Perhaps someday they would return to the city where they had come from. He looked over it now from the upper part of his house, the side that faced away from the canyon and toward the jumbled hills and the ocean, far away, gleaming orange under the setting sun. Caesar remembered the first time he climbed one of the great redwoods and looked at the city, back when Will was alive. There had been so much motion then—cars on the roads, ships on the water, planes in the sky. The air had been brown over the city.

Now he saw the city from much farther away. The air was clear and nothing moved. In the shadows among the buildings, no lights came on as the sun sank into the ocean.

He worked a piece of stone in his hands, needing something to do other than sit and stare and wait for time to pass. A rustling in the branches behind him drew his attention away from the darkening city. He looked to find Maurice clambering over the edge of his perch. Maurice paused with his head, shoulders, and one foot over the edge, waiting to see if Caesar preferred solitude.

Caesar waved him up. Together they moved higher in the tree, to avoid waking the new mother.

Maurice settled next to him and patted his back.

Another son
, he signed.

Caesar nodded and smiled.

Makes me think how far we’ve come.

Nodding back, Maurice traced Caesar’s gaze and looked out over the humans’ city. After a silent moment, he signed again.

Seems so long ago
. After another, he added,
Do you still think about them?

Humans?
Caesar signed.
Sometimes.
His expression betrayed his mixed emotions, though. One open hand wiggled back and forth, a human gesture they had adopted to mean uncertainty.

Maurice looked at his old friend and replied,
I didn’t know them the way you did. Only saw their bad side
.

Good and bad, it doesn’t matter now. We watched them destroy each other. It was their nature.

It was Maurice’s turn to wiggle his hand.

Apes fight, too
, he signed.

But we are family
, Caesar answered firmly.
All of us
.

Maurice considered this. He nodded, but Caesar could see he was being agreeable, rather than agreeing. Considering what that meant, he looked back toward the city. The sun was almost gone into the ocean. Streaks of orange and pink in the sky reminded him of a flavor of ice cream Will had gotten him once after a trip to the woods.

I wonder if they really are all gone
, he signed.

Ten winters now
, Maurice signed.
And for the last two, no sign of them
. He shrugged.
They must be
.

Caesar wasn’t so sure. Humans had been strong enough and smart enough to create great cities. They had made roads across the world. They had built machines that could fly. Will had told him once that humans had even walked on the moon. If they could do that, what could kill all of them off? He knew some of them had been sick when the apes had escaped after becoming smarter, but apes got sick sometimes, too.

Yet no sickness killed them all.

The last of the sun’s rays glowed on the high parts of the orange bridge that crossed the narrow water separating the city from the land where they now lived. Looking at that bridge took Caesar back, as it always did, to the day ten years ago when he had led the escaping apes across that bridge to…

He had not known then what he was leading them to. Only that he was leading them away from cages and pain. The images from that day would never leave Caesar’s mind.

Riding a horse for the first time.

The gorilla, Buck, sacrificing himself to bring the—helicopter, that was the word—crashing down out of the sky.

An even darker memory, of the human, Jacobs, pleading for mercy as Koba tipped the broken helicopter off the edge of the bridge.

Will saying goodbye.

The troop charging across the land on the other side of the bay, through the streets that wound up into the hills, over the hills and into the woods. The humans had chased them, of course. Men with guns and trucks and more helicopters hunted them. Then they stopped. Caesar did not know why, but when the sickness began to spread he guessed that they were turning on each other.

Those first years were hard. Apes died from the cold and from starvation, before they learned what foods grew in these woods and which animals could be hunted.

Now, ten winters since the day they had broken free, the woods belonged to the apes. As Maurice said, they had not seen a human in two winters.

So many of them
, Caesar thought.
Can they really all be gone?
He wished for it, and at the same time the idea made him sad. Humans had been cruel to him, and kind. He was proud of what he had done, but he also missed Will. Other humans, too. Will’s father, some scattered few others who had treated him well. But it was hard to think of many. Most of them had feared him, caged him, tried to kill him.

Maybe it was better that they were gone… but still it made him sad.

He watched the sun vanish into the ocean, dragging the last light out of the sky. The city vanished, too, slowly fading into the darkness. He did not see a single light.

Perhaps one day they would return to the city and see what the humans had left behind. Caesar had talked about this with Maurice, who said it would be dangerous. What if the sickness could spread to apes? The orangutan’s caution made sense to Caesar, and the apes stayed in the mountains. They had everything they needed here. Caesar’s children would live in a world without cages, without needles, without humans in masks making soothing words while they caused apes pain.

If the humans all had to die to create that world, it was worth it.

Maurice yawned and waddled to the edge of the floor. He stretched. Something popped in one of his arms.
Sleep
, he signed, and dropped out of sight. Caesar listened to him swinging down through the branches and walking away down the path. He sat for a little longer, looking at the stars. Humans had told each other stories about the stars. Caesar did not know any of those stories. Maybe they were in books somewhere. Or maybe apes could make up their own stories. The shapes in the stars did not have to be human shapes.

He stood and walked quietly down the sloping catwalk that spiraled around the trunk of the tree, linking the different parts of his shelter. At the edge of the sleeping room, he paused and took a deep breath of the night air. He smelled the remains of the fire, the richness of the meadow soil, the mossy scent of the wet rocks at the river’s edge far below.

Apes had done well.

He went inside, rubbing his fingers over the stone he had been carving before Maurice joined him. On the trunk side of the shelter, away from where Cornelia and the newborn were sleeping, was a table with a chessboard. Caesar had made both himself. He set the stone in its place on the board, among the other pieces he had fashioned. They were not the same as the pieces on Will’s board, but they would do the same things. Small pieces in front, to march forward and protect the more useful pieces behind. He thought of all the different ways the pieces moved. Will had taught him that.

He picked up his new piece and moved it, up two and over one, as Will had shown him when he was barely grown. Then he put it back. He had not yet taught Blue Eyes to play, but he should begin. Then Blue Eyes would teach the new child. Ape would pass knowledge to ape, and knowledge was strength.

He stood over his mate and baby, just looking at them. No thinking now, just feeling. Caesar crept quietly around to the other side of the bed and eased himself down next to Cornelia. He felt good. It was time to sleep.

As he closed his eyes, he heard something change in Cornelia’s breathing. She wheezed and shifted, turning a little more on her side and settling the baby against her again. Caesar lifted his head and listened. The motion woke her briefly. She saw him there, and smiled as her eyes closed again and she grew still. Caesar could tell she had never really been awake.

He started to lie back, then paused as the wheezing started again. The talk of sickness was fresh in his mind. He leaned his face close to her, listening and trying to decide how serious this sound was. The newborn made a small sound and opened his eyes. Caesar felt again the emotion he had experienced the first time Blue Eyes had looked him in the eye. A new life, seeing the world around it. Seeing him.

He reached over Cornelia and gently stroked his tiny son’s hand. The hand turned over and gripped Caesar’s finger, startling a smile from him. He stayed like that, looking into his son’s eyes and feeling the grip of his son’s fingers, until both of them were asleep.

Blue Eyes and Ash stood in the shallows of the river early the next morning. Mist still drifted in the high valleys, and the sun had just risen high enough to shine down on the river. The gashes from the bear’s claws the day before were still raw, but they were starting to scab over. More than anything else, Blue Eyes was still embarrassed because he had gone after the elk too fast. He had ruined his father’s plan, and almost gotten himself killed. That felt worse than the tears in his skin.

He was also angry at his father for not trusting him. Who could have known a bear would be there? If he wasn’t stuck to his father’s side, Blue Eyes knew he could have led one of the hunting groups. He could have brought down an elk himself, or been part of one of the groups that had divided the herd.

Ash had done that. He’d talked about it all the way from the village down to the river. His father, Rocket, let Ash do things that Caesar would never let Blue Eyes do. It drove Blue Eyes crazy that Caesar treated him like a baby. And it was Koba—not his father—who had tried to make Blue Eyes feel better last night. All Caesar thought about was Blue Eyes’ new brother.

All of this went through his mind as he stood, cold water rushing around his feet and spear poised, looking down at the water and waiting for a fish to move so he could see it. The trout in the river blended into the rocks, and when the sun got higher they would move to other parts of the river to hide from birds. It was hard to get them, but worth it when you were sitting around a fire eating them.

There
. Blue Eyes saw the flick of a fin, and all of a sudden the shape of the fish was obvious. He stabbed down and missed, the spear point grating on a rock. As fast as he could, he stabbed again, but the fish was long gone. Ash laughed from his spot just upstream.

Let’s see you do better
, Blue Eyes signed.

Ash took a step into deeper water, up around his thighs, paused—and struck. He hooted with delight, drawing his spear back and holding it level with the water. A trout thrashed and wriggled on the end of it.

That’s how you do it
, he signed with the hand not holding the spear. Blue Eyes couldn’t stand it. Ash did everything right. Everything was easy for him. And his father let him hunt. Blue Eyes could feel his temper rising. Caesar had taught him control, but it was hard. He got his spear ready again, looking from the water to Ash, who set the butt of his spear into the riverbed so he could reach the fish he’d gotten.