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

They turn it on, and a kind of wind starts in his mouth, but all Koba can think about is Jacobs, how close he is. And how the straps that hold him down are looser than usual. And he feels the heat that wants out of him, through his hands, through his feet, through his teeth.

He screams and heaves towards Jacobs, and one of the straps snaps off of him. He sees Jacob’s scramble back, arms raised in fear, his eyes full of panic, and he likes it. Koba strains to get off the table, but then they slam him back onto it, and before he can struggle back up, they strap him back down.

Tightly, this time.

They put the thing back on his face, and he has no choice but to breathe whatever it is.

Koba is back in his cage. He is tired and disappointed. He wants to sleep. But when he closes his eyes, he sees things—bright flashes of light, flickering patterns. He remembers his mother’s face, the smell of Tommy’s smoke-stick.

He remembers outside. He feels as if somehow he is in the sky, getting bigger and bigger. Like the sky is inside of him, or some great space. It was empty, but now it’s starting to fill up.

He remembers the things Will and the other man said. They chose him because they think he is docile, just as he planned. It was easy for him, because for so long he has been docile. The man with Will had seen that in him.

But now they know he isn’t docile, and he understands that his chance to punish Jacobs—for all he has done—might now never come. He should have waited until a better time.

He sleeps, and he dreams strange, colorful dreams, and he wakes with something bothering him. He remembers Will looking at something and then saying his name. How did Will know Koba’s name?

It is a little later when they come for him. As they take him from the cage, he looks back. He sees letters there, and now he remembers how Mary taught him to spell his name. K-O-B-A.

Will can read the letters. The cage tells Will his name.

And now he understands why that bothers him. Because he has dreamt of letters—not the letters of his own name, but those that Jacobs had on the rectangle around his neck. The letters told people who Jacobs was. And those letters are clenched in Koba’s mind as in a fist, along with the face and the sound of his name.

They take him to another room, and this one has toys like he remembers from the place where his mother was. There are two button boards on the wall. He stares at them, remembering. Then he begins to play with one. Outside of the glass, the humans are watching something.

“You’ve done this before,” Will says.

Koba signs, Yes .

“And you sign,” he says. “I knew you were a good choice.”

“Aside from the fact that he attacked us,” Franklin says.

“Enjoy yourself, Koba,” Will says. “I’ll be back later.”

The humans leave him to play.

He tires of the button board, because no one is asking him questions. He finds another game he remembers. It involves circles with holes in them that fit onto sticks. When he gets bored of that he sees something else that looks familiar, a flat dark rectangle. He touches it, and a spot appears. Intrigued, he begins drawing patterns. He draws some angry bananas.

He hears a sound, and from the corner of his eye he sees Jacobs enter the room beyond the glass. He isn’t wearing a rectangle with letters on it, but Koba remembers. Carefully, he writes them on the screen: J-A-C-O-B-S.

Then he glares at Jacobs. He wants Jacobs to know he is thinking about him.

But Jacobs smiles.

After that, they make him play many games. They all seem pleased.

Koba is back in his cage when the noises begin. At first he thinks it’s just the caterpillars getting upset, but then he hears humans screaming and glass breaking. He looks out and sees that some of the caterpillars have escaped, and are freeing the rest, smashing the buttons that control the cages. He hears the latch on his cage click, and he gives it a push.

It swings slowly open.

Carefully he creeps out of his cage, uncertain what is going on. He peers around the corner and sees one of them, standing like a human. Giving orders. Commanding. And he realizes that these are not dumb caterpillars. These are not humans. These are apes, like him. And their leader…

He feels a strange pull inside, like the invisible thing that brings him back to the ground when he leaps. This is an ape fighting the humans. Fighting Jacobs. Tearing apart the things Jacobs has made.

And now he is torn. He wants to be part of whatever this ape is doing. He wants to help him. But he wants Jacobs more, and so he turns away to search for him.

In the chaos, he cannot find Jacobs. The caterpillars are running everywhere, breaking everything. But a strange thing happens—the chaos begins to become more still, and Koba realizes that the apes who freed everyone are gradually taking leadership of the caterpillars. And they are leading them outside.

The pull strengthens. The leader has a plan. He is going somewhere. Somewhere outside. In that moment Koba understands that he wants more than revenge. He wants…

He doesn’t know the thought or word or sign for what he wants. But he knows that this leader, this ape who freed him, is the key. So he turns from seeking Jacobs, and instead follows him—follows Caesar.

He does not regret his choice.

Koba swung up into the nearest tree and glared at the approaching humans. They saw him now. The gunfire trailed off.

“That’s the leader!” one of them shouted.

Koba knew that wasn’t the truth, but he liked to hear it. And it meant the humans were still falling for the trick. So there was only one thing left to do.

The survivors clustered around him, their presence giving him strength. He knew they were with him.

With a defiant shriek, he leapt toward the humans. Their guns made thunder.

Corbin pulled the Humvee to a stop and Malakai got out.

“Everyone quiet,” he said, holding up his hand.

The forest stretched out into the valley below them. A helicopter was making its way along what must be the perimeter not far away, spraying tear gas. But as they watched, it suddenly veered and began moving down the valley.

“See?” Corbin said. “They’re calling it in. That’s because they’re on the western perimeter.”

“They’re wasting their airpower, then,” Malakai said. “Listen.”

Corbin shut up, and a little frown appeared on his face.

“What?”

“Follow me,” Malakai said. “And whatever you do, don’t start shooting unless I tell you to. If they know we’re here too soon, this won’t work.”

He led them to a line of rocks just next to and overlooking the upper end of the valley.

“I hear them,” Clancy whispered.

“Shh,” Malakai admonished. He could already see movement in the trees, not in one spot, but everywhere. A thutter ing, thumping sound came from woods, almost like a cattle stampede. The limbs of the trees began thrashing.

And then they burst into the clearing—first a chimp, running furiously, one hand gripping what looked like a spear. Just behind him were the gorillas, their knuckles tamping out the beat of the charge. Flores raised his rifle, but Malakai pushed it back down.

Now chimps and orangutans were sailing by overhead, carrying wounded and infants, and without doubt some of them were armed with spears. He remembered being thirteen, and holding a spear, surrounded by children holding spears and clubs. He remembered the flame spitting from the machine-guns of the mercenaries as they charged with those crude weapons, confident that the bullets could not hurt them.