Alex Irvine - Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

“ 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.

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.