Greg Keyes - Dawn of the Planet of the Apes - Firestorm

“I’m sure you’re all aware that this problem extends far beyond our city. This morning I’ve been informed that the governor has invoked martial law and requested federal disaster relief. We’re doing everything—and, I repeat, everything —we can to fight this plague. As to you, the citizens of this great city, I ask that you work with law enforcement to keep things running as smoothly as possible in this time of crisis. If you’re told to report for quarantine, under law, you must do so. You will be there for a few days at worst. Indeed, quarantine is probably the safest place you could be right now. So if you think you’ve been exposed, please, do what’s best for all of us, and obey the law.

“Only by adhering to these time-tested procedures do we have any chance of slowing this thing down.”

He looked around, a bit uncertainly, Dreyfus thought. Then he cleared his throat.

“I would like to take a moment for us to all pray together.” He looked to one side. “Pastor Dubois, if you would…?”

Dreyfus switched the channel. He didn’t have any interest in what Pastor Dubois might or might not have to say.

He landed on one of the cable “news” talk shows, where a red-faced man was holding forth to the host. Dreyfus thought he recognized the guest as a national talk-radio personality.

“…an engineered situation,” the man was saying. “The virus was made in a laboratory by the US government. That’s for damned sure. We know they’ve been working on these biological weapons for years, plus we’ve got everything Saddam Hussein was working on. Why were there no WMDs? Because we took them all.” He leaned forward and used both hands for emphasis.

“I find it interesting— very interesting—that not a single member of the President’s cabinet or the leadership of his party has contracted this disease.”

“I’m sure they’re all being very careful,” the host said.

“How could they be careful about a disease they didn’t know about in advance? The speaker of the house has it. Besides, they don’t have to be careful.”

“You’re saying there’s an antidote,” the host said.

“Damn straight there is. They made it. They wouldn’t release it until they made some sort of inoculation or antiviral, or whatever they call it.” He mopped his sweaty forehead and went on. “It’s also a proven fact that the virus disproportionately affects Caucasians. Once this plague has killed off what few real Americans remain, those who endure will find themselves under permanent martial law—in a totalitarian state that Stalin could have only dreamed of.”

“So you’re saying the people at Argo ranch were justified in shooting the FBI agents?”

“Patriots like Ted Durham and his followers are the only hope we have left. And there are more of them—of us—than you think. Some of us have been preparing for this day for a long time. They tried to use the threat of terrorism to suppress our liberties, but that didn’t work. Now they’ve shown their true colors, shown exactly what depravity they will stoop to. Look at what’s happening right here—they call them ‘quarantines,’ but everybody knows they’re death camps.

“Nobody that goes into one of those places comes out. Everyone, everyone that hears the sound of my voice, I call on you to resist. If you have a gun, load it. If you don’t, get one. Fight the tyranny!”

“Oh, shit,” Dreyfus said.

The Argo ranch thing had happened just yesterday, in western Washington State. A reputed militia group had shot at local law enforcement, killing a sheriff and two deputies. The FBI had been sent in and was also fired upon. Now Guard troops had surrounded the place. A similar incident was unfolding in Idaho, although the scale seemed to be smaller.

“Why are they wasting their time on nut jobs out in the boondocks?” Patel wondered aloud.

“They won’t for long,” Dreyfus predicted. “They won’t have the manpower. There’s going to be a lot more of this, people turning on each other—but also banding together.”

“And not in a good way,” his aide added.

Dreyfus shrugged.

“Those guys have a common enemy. They believe they know who’s responsible for their troubles, for everything they think is wrong, and they have a plan for what to do about it. It’s better than ‘every man for himself’.”

“But they’re wrong,” Patel objected. “It’s absurd—the notion that the government did this.” Then he stared at his boss. “Are you suggesting we get behind them, or mimic these claims?”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” Dreyfus said. “We need a strategy that unifies everyone, not just people with similar political persuasions. A real common enemy.”

“Wouldn’t that be the virus?”

“No, a disease doesn’t have a face unless you give it one, and everyone is giving it a different face. The fringe right blames the government. The left says it’s the multinational corporations to blame. I’ve heard the claim that it’s God’s punishment for our hedonistic ways—it started in San Francisco, you see. I’ve heard that it’s Gaia, the Earth Mother, punishing us for pollution, or that it’s the virus that killed the dinosaurs, and that it was frozen in polar ice until global warming let it out.

“No, there are too many theories,” he said. “We need a common story.”

“And what would that be?” Patel asked.

“Damned if I know,” Dreyfus said. “Although knowing the truth might be a good start.”

Thank you , Maurice signed, before dipping his fingers into the soft flesh of the durian. I was very hungry.

You’re welcome , Koba acknowledged, feeling a prickle of some emotion he didn’t recognize. It felt good, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. Or better put, he wasn’t sure he could trust it. He had never been given anything that hadn’t been taken away.

Except pain.

Maurice ate with a deliberation that was hard to understand, as if each taste of the food was important to him. As if getting it into his belly quickly so that no one else could take it wasn’t the main objective.

Maurice noticed Koba watching, and offered him a finger full.

Try .

Koba took the durian doubtfully and placed it into his mouth. It smelled bad. To his surprise, however, the taste was good. A little like a rotten banana.

I see you remembering , Maurice said. Eyes go funny. You shake .

This happens to you? Koba wanted to know.

To me, yes. To all of the apes that breathed Caesar’s mist .

The mist makes us remember?

Makes us smarter , Maurice said. Being smarter makes us remember .

Koba thought about that for a moment. He had known something else was happening to him, without being able to say what it was. Smarter? For him, that word had to do with learning tricks, or using sign. And now that he thought about it, he was using sign differently than he used to. Better.

Not true of big caterpillars , he told Maurice.

Big caterpillars?

From zoo .

Maurice’s throat suddenly swelled. Koba wasn’t sure what it meant. But it felt dangerous, and he skipped back a bit.

Don’t call them that! Maurice said. They are apes, like you, like me. Not as smart maybe, not know sign maybe, but still apes. Apes together—strong. Like Caesar says.

Koba gaped, taken aback by the usually gentle ape’s show of anger. The big caterpillars were apes?

But of course they were. They just hadn’t been taught sign like he had. But they could learn it, as he had. Now that it was pointed out to him, it seemed so obvious, and he felt stupid for not understanding earlier.