So he was one of the Colonel’s soldiers—or had been.
Luca glanced around, but there was no indication that there were other humans about. No lurking soldiers appeared to avenge their brother-in-arms. Luca signed in confusion:
What’s he doing out here alone?
Rocket shrugged and signed, Maybe he’s a deserter?
Possible, Caesar thought. He regretted that the soldier had not kept himself alive long enough to be questioned. He wanted the Colonel dead at his feet, not some lone straggler. This was just a waste of time and ammunition.
A muffled crash, coming from the shack, jolted the apes to action. Caesar nodded at Luca, who lumbered over to the ramshackle abode and took hold of the door handle. Caesar and the other apes covered Luca with their rifles as the gorilla ripped the pitted wooden door off its hinges and flung it aside. Sunlight invaded the murky interior of the shack, but its inhabitant could not be seen through the doorway. Everyone looked to Caesar for guidance.
Caesar briefly considered moving on and leaving the shack and whomever it was hiding in peace, but decided against it. He still needed information regarding the Colonel’s whereabouts and plans, and could not risk giving the shack-dweller an opportunity to warn the soldiers of the apes’ approach. They might even have a radio in there.
He signaled the other apes to follow him.
Guns drawn, they cautiously entered the shack, on guard against sneak attacks. Lit only by the sunshine glinting in behind the apes, the inside of the shack was narrow and cramped, even more so than the tunnels and corridors back at the fortress. Rotting wood paneling was peeling off the walls and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Mold encroached on nearly every surface, offending Caesar’s acute sense of smell. Boxes and bags of supplies: canned food, bags of beans and flour, batteries, and duct tape were stacked haphazardly throughout the shack, making it feel even more claustrophobic. The smoke turned out to be coming from a compact propane heater venting out through the chimney. The place felt more like an above-ground bunker barely fit for human habitation, but it was obviously home to someone.
Or someones.
Caesar scanned the shadows as the apes stalked through the shack without encountering any opposition. His eyes searched every nook and cranny where a vengeful human might be hiding, but found them empty of threats. His concentrated gaze zeroed in on a closed door at the rear of the shack. He held up a hand to silently signal the other apes as he tightened his grip on his rifle, rested his finger on the trigger, took a deep breath, and threw his shoulder against the door. The flimsy construction was no match for the strength of a determined chimpanzee, and he burst into the cramped bedroom beyond and swept the muzzle of his gun before him, prepared to open fire at whatever human might be waiting in ambush. His heart pounded, pumping adrenaline through his veins, as his eyes blazed ferociously. He had already shot one human today; he would not balk at killing another at the first sign of danger.
Show yourself, if you want to live!
But instead of a soldier, poised to attack, he found…
A little girl?
A small blonde-haired waif, no more than eight or nine years old, cowered like a frightened animal in the bottom half of a bunk bed, a moth-eaten blanket pulled up to her chin. She was backed up against the wall as far as she could, staring up at Caesar with large, frightened eyes. For an instant, Caesar flashed back to Cornelius looking at him with the same fearful expression when Caesar had lunged at him with the spear last night, and he felt a twinge of guilt for scaring the defenseless child, but then he remembered what the humans had done to Cornelius’s mother and brother and his heart hardened. He regarded the human child stonily, keeping his gun pointed at her. His heart, his blood, remained primed for mortal combat.
A shaggy orange hand reached out and rested upon the barrel of the rifle, gently forcing it down so that it was aimed at the floor instead. Caesar allowed Maurice the liberty, but he said nothing as he slowly assumed a less aggressive posture. Caesar breathed deeply to settle his bellicose emotions and scale down from his heightened state of battle-readiness.
He did not need to kill again… or at least not yet.
Caesar coldly turned away from the girl, ignoring the worried looks upon the faces of the other apes, and gestured at the contents of the shack.
“Look around. Take what we can use.”
He could tell that his newfound ruthlessness and seeming lack of emotion concerned them, but that couldn’t be helped. The more tender portions of his being had died with his family. Revenge was all that drove him now. There was no room in his heart for sentiment or distractions.
8
Rocket and Luca followed Caesar back into the cluttered heart of the shack, to sort through the provisions piled there, leaving Maurice alone with the human girl. The orangutan observed her with both curiosity and pity. Her long, sun-bleached hair was matted and badly in need of grooming. Grime coated her face, hiding it almost as effectively as the dark camo paint employed by the soldiers. Her feet, poking out from beneath the blanket, were bare, the nails untrimmed. He’d seen baby apes, back at the primate shelter, that had looked better cared for. Threadbare clothing, fraying at the edges, struck Maurice as a poor substitute for an ape’s hairy coat.
Squeezing further into the cramped room, he glimpsed something lying on the floor by the bed. He stepped forward to take a closer look, alarming the girl, who shrank into a corner as though trying to curl herself up into a ball. Her obvious terror tugged at Maurice’s gentle heart. He tried to comfort her as he would an ape child, by cooing and panting softly at her. Reaching down, he retrieved the item on the floor, which turned out to be a crude rag doll, fashioned to resemble a human female.
Maybe this will calm her, he thought.
Taking care not to make any sudden movements, he held out the doll to the girl. She eyed it longingly, hesitating, before darting out from behind the blanket. She snatched the toy from his hands, then retreated back to her corner. She hugged the doll close to her while watching Maurice warily. He wanted to think that she appeared slightly less frightened now, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part.
He wondered as to her relationship to the dead man lying in the dirt outside the shack. Had the nameless soldier been her father or just her caretaker? How had they found each other in the ruins of the humans’ world, and how long might the girl have been living in the derelict oyster farm?
Perhaps she can answer such questions, Maurice thought, if we can earn her trust?
He slowly reached out his arms to her. She froze, anxious blue eyes tracking the movement of his large simian hand, which was many times the size of hers. Maurice tried to assume a non-menacing expression, even though he was all too aware of how large and intimidating he must seem to the tiny child. He stretched out a single finger and gently stroked the doll’s head.
The girl blinked in surprise. Looking up at Maurice, she studied him intently, concentrating with all her strength. Gradually, as she realized that he was not going to eat her or her doll, her fear appeared to ebb. Her eyes lost their panicked look and her small body grew less taut. It occurred to Maurice, belatedly, that the girl had yet to utter a sound, not even to scream or cry. Had she been scared speechless so far? He wondered what it would take to coax her into talking.
He was reluctant to address her using human speech. In his experience, most humans still found talking apes upsetting, and he preferred sign language in any case. He hooted softly at her again, trying to get her to say something.
Her mouth opened in response, but no words emerged.
Only a low, inarticulate whimper.
* * *
Rooting through the shack’s contents proved worth the effort. Luca claimed a dusty metal compass from a battered lockbox he found in a cupboard, which also held a pair of binoculars and a couple of working flashlights. Grunting, he showed off his haul to Caesar and Rocket.
Caesar was glad of the equipment, which might prove u
seful later on, but was growing impatient to get back on the Colonel’s trail. Every moment they delayed meant that the murderer might be getting farther away; this detour was costing them valuable time.
He glanced back at the bedroom in the rear. He was just wondering what was keeping Maurice when the orangutan appeared in the doorway. Caesar saw to his surprise that the human girl was tagging after Maurice, peering out curiously from behind the ape’s large, shaggy form. A beaten-up rag doll dangled from her grip.
Something wrong with her, Maurice signed. I don’t think she can speak.
That was the least of Caesar’s concerns at the moment. He glanced coldly at the child, then back at Maurice.
“We must go,” he said.
To his frustration it was already late afternoon by the time they left the shack and commenced to get underway again. Caesar and Rocket mounted their horses, which they had retrieved from the trees, as Luca guided the remaining two steeds into the campground. Maurice approached his horse, about to climb onto it, but paused and looked back at the shack.
Caesar saw that the girl had followed them out into the open. She wandered over to the body of the dead soldier, which was still lying on the ground beside his gun. Despite his impatience, Caesar was struck by the child’s odd reaction to the corpse. He had anticipated tears and hysterics, but if anything she appeared strangely fascinated by the lifeless remains, as though she didn’t entirely grasp what she was seeing.
Caesar did not have a lot of experience with human children, but he doubted this was normal. Had she been so badly traumatized by the horrors of the last few years that she was damaged somehow?
Maurice turned to Caesar. She’ll die out here alone, he signed.
A flicker of sympathy passed through Caesar; this helpless child was not his enemy and bore no blame for his family’s death. But he had a blood debt to settle and babysitting a stray human orphan played no part in that. The girl would only slow them down and get in the way of his vengeance. Maurice had to know that. This was no errand of mercy they were on.
“We cannot take her,” Caesar said firmly.
Maurice listened thoughtfully, nodding.
I understand, he signed. But I cannot leave her.
Frustrated, Caesar glared at the stubborn orangutan.
* * *
Dusk had fallen as the party, now larger by one, continued along the shore, trusting in those old reports from Luca’s scouts. The girl rode behind Maurice, clinging to his back as an ape child might, her dirty face pressed against his shaggy coat.
Caesar scowled at the sight, shooting his friend a hard look. For better or for worse, Maurice had always followed his conscience, no matter how inconvenient or dangerous, so Caesar had known there would be no arguing with the orangutan on this point. He found himself wondering, however, if it had been a mistake to let Maurice and the others accompany him after all.
Maurice acknowledged Caesar’s stern glare with a conciliatory nod, as though to assure Caesar that the girl would be no trouble.
Caesar was unconvinced.
A grunt from Luca interrupted their silent exchange. Looking ahead, Caesar saw rows of crudely constructed crosses posted along the edge of the tidal flats, where the beach surrendered to marsh and brush. Made of driftwood, bound together by tape or twine, the crosses were staked into the ground at the heads of fresh mounds of dirt and looked of much more recent vintage than the overgrown wreckage back at the oyster farm.
Investigating, the apes discovered that beyond the tall grasses, a grove of cypresses was filled with row after row of crosses, each accompanied by a corresponding mound of earth. The apes looked about them, unnerved by the ominous tableau.
Must be where they bury their dead, Maurice signed.
Caesar contemplated the crosses. Although the symbol meant nothing to apes, he knew that humans often used crosses to mark their burial places. Riding through the primitive cemetery, he was surprised to see that the trunks of nearby cypress trees were riddled with bullet holes. Squinting at the ground, despite the fading daylight, he saw brass bullet casings strewn across the floor of the clearing. He winced at the sight, recalling the empty shells on the floor of his former dwelling place, before forcing himself to focus on the mystery at hand.
“Looks like some were killed here,” Caesar said.
This was no mass grave left over from the Flu pandemic of several years ago, he deduced. As he understood it, the only humans still alive were those with a natural immunity to the virus, making any new outbreaks unlikely. Judging from the bullet holes and casing, humans had not just been buried here.
They had been executed.
Grunting, Luca called them over to another discovery. Just beyond the graves, lying in a heap in a small clearing, were the charred remains of a bonfire, in which a large number of human artifacts had been all but incinerated. Blackened eyeglasses, belt buckles, medals, and military dog tags could be seen among the ashes.
They burned their things too, Luca signed.
That some recent atrocity had transpired here seemed evident, even if the motives behind the massacre remained unclear. Maurice gazed at the pile of charred personal effects in bewilderment.
Why would they kill their own people? the orangutan signed.
Caesar wished he knew. There was a puzzle here that he couldn’t quite make out the shape of yet. He had always been good at puzzles, even as a small child growing up in Will’s house in the city, but he felt like he was missing a few vital pieces of this one. Caesar frowned; he didn’t like being in the dark when it came to what the humans were up to these days.
A shame that lone soldier forced me to kill him.
He was still mulling over the mystery when Luca called out to him from the opposite end of the graveyard. Crossing the cemetery, he joined Luca, who pointed through the trees at the distant pinpricks of light in the distance. Squinting in the twilight, Caesar made out faraway campfires and the vague silhouettes of tents. His eyes widened.
The humans’ base camp, Caesar realized. We found it.
His lips peeled backwards in savage anticipation, baring his teeth and gums. A low growl escaped him.
Now I just need to find the Colonel…
9
A field of khaki tents was spread out in the twilight. Crouching in the brush, Caesar used the binoculars they had scavenged from the looted shack to survey the humans’ camp from a safe distance. Luca and Rocket flanked Caesar as he checked out the camp.
AΩ was painted on the side of the tent immediately in view. Moving beyond the symbol, Caesar was disturbed to see various slogans painted here and there throughout the camp:
THOSE WHO FORGET THE PAST ARE DOOMED TO REPEAT IT.
THE ONLY GOOD KONG IS A DEAD KONG.
REMEMBER THE GOLDEN GATE.
The hostile graffiti chilled Caesar’s blood. He remembered the female soldier from the raid, the one Blue Eyes had killed later on, declaring she and her fellow soldiers represented “the beginning and the end.” There was a ring of fanaticism to that language that worried Caesar, as had Red’s insistence that the human soldiers were utterly devoted to their murderous leader.
“To them, he more than just human,” the renegade ape had declared. “He everything.”
All the more reason to remove the Colonel from the world.
As Caesar continued to search the camp via the binoculars, a pair of apes briefly passed through his view. He tracked them to an open area between the tents where large groups of human soldiers were warming themselves around the camp fires. In the dim lighting, it was difficult to make out who the apes were, but Caesar’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the sight of the turncoat apes attending to the humans by filling their cups. He wasn’t sure what appalled him more, that the apes were traitors or that they were serving as slaves.
One of the apes turned toward Caesar and Red’s detested features came into view. I should have known, Caesar thought, that he would go running back to the Colonel.
&n
bsp; Then the other ape stepped into the light of a campfire. Fury replaced disgust on Caesar’s face. He lowered the binoculars, unable to look upon the scene for a moment longer.
Luca noted the change in Caesar’s expression. Did you find the Colonel? he signed.
Caesar did not trust himself to speak. Instead he simply handed the binoculars to Luca, who raised them to his own eyes. Caesar knew what he was seeing: the snow-white fur of a rare albino gorilla, one very well known to them both.
“Winter,” he snarled.
* * *
The sun had set and Red was tired and hungry. He had endured much over the last day or so, both before and after his escape from Caesar’s forces, and wanted nothing more than to rest.
But first the human soldiers had to be fed.
He and Winter moved among the humans, bearing buckets of chipmunk stew which they ladled out to the impatient soldiers as the humans sat around their fires. Winter, who was new to this, was visibly fearful and hesitant; Red guessed that the white gorilla had never been this close to so many armed humans in his life.
He’d better get used to it, Red thought, if he wants to live.
“Donkey,” a soldier snarled at Winter. “Over here.”
Red watched worriedly. All the humans were on edge after their losses against Caesar and his apes, and this particular soldier, Boyle, was volatile at the best of times. A pale-skinned human with short yellow hair and perpetually angry eyes, Boyle was like a defective grenade; you never knew when he might go off.
Winter cringed, flustered by Boyle’s hostile tone. Red loped over to intercede, hoping to head off any trouble.
“Okay, okay,” Red said, trying to placate Boyle. “He come…”
Red nodded at Winter, urging him to hurry up. The gorilla approached nervously and Boyle held out a tarnished metal bowl. Winter took the bowl and filled it hastily… too hastily. A dollop of lukewarm stew spilled onto the soldier’s boot.