General Mendez seized control of the terminal. Placed civilians under martial law. Forced them into the subway tunnels. Kept His troops from molesting them. Maintained order. Preserved justice. Saved lives.
Deep underground.
The surface was destroyed.
Fast forward. From the ashes, they rose. Mendez rebuilt society. Taught them about the doorway to heaven. Taught them to respect it.
Taylor approached the cathedral again. A voice in the crowd cried out.
“No outsiders!”
The soldiers slammed the door shut.
“Church door,” the voice repeated. “Respect the church door.”
* * *
A people saved, buried under rubble and ash. Radiation claimed some of the survivors. Flesh rotted and boiled. Others were immune. Still more were changed. Adapted.
Radiation suits were used. Many were exiled to the underground wilds. Disfigurements grew. The deformed were put down in order to maintain purity. The general demanded it.
The changes grew more pronounced, until they all were required to wear paper masks so that they could look at one another. So they could live together. So they could bear to reproduce, to flourish.
So they could protect the church door.
Taylor tried to look inside the church.
The voice boomed, “By order of General Mendez!”
The soldiers slammed the door shut.
“Church door,” the voice echoed. “Protect the church door.”
* * *
Twenty years passed. Resources grew slim. The general sent scouts to look for healthy lands aboveground. Any oasis untainted by radiation. They discovered the truth. The nuclear attacks had been localized. New York had been one of the few hit. A ceasefire had been called, long ago. The world above lived on.
The survivors of New York had lived underneath radioactive rubble for two decades. Their fate had been unnecessary. Now, they could be free—but they were different. Their skin had been stripped from their bodies. New generations were born without it. They were malformed. Hideous.
And in the undercity, there was no strife. There was no crime. There was no war. Here, Mendez was in power. Here, He was lionized. There was no one to whom they need answer but God and Himself. He had created heaven under earth.
Mendez kept the secret. Killed the scouts. No one could know.
The world above is dead, He told His people. It was only a matter of time before it was true. Surface man was corrupt, He told Himself; evil. They would destroy themselves, and His underdwellers would inherit the earth.
Inside the church was their salvation. A cult grew amongst His most loyal. He chose the healthiest to become His house. The House of Mendez. Taught them to revere the church door, lest the world die anew.
Taylor tried to rush the soldiers.
“On your knees!” The voice was relentless.
He slipped past the guard.
Inside the cathedral, he gazed into an ever-expanding sun.
His retinas seared white.
The soldiers slammed the door shut.
“Church door,” it demanded. “Revere the church door.”
* * *
Taylor screamed as no man ever should.
He was back in the Corridor of Busts. He had never left. Hot from the blinding flash in his brain, synapses burned. His eyes rolled over white.
The bust of Mendez I was dashed to the floor, shattering into an array of ceramic and crystal. He convulsed and followed suit. With the connection severed, his vision faded from white to red to black.
* * *
Stupid brute, Caspay sent.
His primitive mind could not handle the reverie, Ongaro agreed. The leaders gathered around the twitching Taylor and the all-but-destroyed bust of Mendez I. One of their most sacred laws had been broken—only those of the House of Mendez were permitted to commune with the ancestors in the Corridor of Busts. Mendez I’s phylactery had lost its integrity, and everything He had been was lost. Part of their knowledge, history, and heritage, forever gone.
He is as volatile as the apes. Adiposo’s nostrils flared as he expressed his displeasure.
Unpredictable, Caspay added.
Savage, Albina sent.
Ongaro thought nothing.
Mendez XXVI found it difficult to rein in His thoughts. Instincts long locked away flooded Him. He wanted to lash out at this man, to beat the life from him—but it was not their way. A peaceful people, the mutants would not kill.
Still, Albina gasped. She had sensed the wave of barbarism sweep over the Holy of Holies. Urgently, Mendez XXVI recovered His demeanor. He hoped the woman would not question what she had sensed from Him. Perhaps take it as an errant emotion from the unconscious human who lay at their feet. The others could not know that He had faltered.
These intelligent humans are dangerous, Mendez XXVI observed. Mendez I gave His essence to stop this heathen. His Holiness came to a decision. Mr. Taylor shall not be permitted to bear witness to our god.
Take him to a holding cell, Caspay instructed the recovering guards. Let him reflect on his actions, and await final judgment.
Quickly, Mendez XXVI put the others to task.
Find me another representative of the apes, He demanded. We must know what they are planning.
* * *
With the dawn, the Security Police went to work. Rather than using the amphitheater for the execution, Sabian wanted it accessible to all apes. To that end, the very overpass where Zira had delivered her heretical speech was to be the place of her death. Sabian himself would serve as her final judge, so wooden barricades were erected both around the gallows area and along the route from the chapel, to allow for the High Patriarch’s procession.
Vendors set up their shops along the square, hoping the event would garner more sales. To their delight, morbid curiosity created an impressive turnout as droves of the curious lined up to see holy justice done.
A line of stocks was set up around Simian Square, and the imprisoned protesters were placed in them for public ridicule. Tian, Consus, and Jaila were on display, along with several others. Already some apes had taunted and abused them.
While the square was packed, many on the High Council—President Gaius included—were conspicuously absent. They had chosen not to attend the affair, nor make any statements regarding it. They remained similarly silent concerning all of the Security Act changes, including Sabian’s declaration of martial law. Unwilling to take a stance, they maintained the ambiguity of all wise politicians, and lived by the motto of see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. For better or for worse, they deferred their authority to the High Patriarch.
Could it be any worse? Zira scoffed. If Sabian and Ursus represented the future, she no longer feared for herself or her unborn baby. Better not to be a part of it.
Yet she longed to see Cornelius one last time.
* * *
The gallows were nothing more than a noose strapped around the overpass itself. When Zira’s time came, the executioner would simply put it around her neck, push her off, and let gravity do the rest.
Hands shackled behind her, she stood on the footbridge, accompanied by Cerek’s second-in-command, Sub-Chief Xirinius. The chief himself stood in the square below, ready to pronounce her dead. Both of them carried keys to the stockades, and to the shackles the prisoners wore.
No one knew who the executioner would be. Executions were extremely rare in ape society—reserved for mass murderers, the criminally insane, and heretics. Every ape knew that at some time in life they might be summoned to perform a service that was less than desirable. Yet when chosen by lot, they had no choice but to do their civil duty. Rather than be condemned to bear such a stigma, however, the ape’s identity would be hidden by a hood and robes. Only the chief of the Security Police, the Chief Defender of the Faith, the Lawgiver, and God would ever know who they were.
As the sun approached its zenith, a wailing of horns cut through the murmur of the crowds.
> “All hail,” a crier announced, “His most Holy High Patriarch, Pontifex Rex, Chief Defender of the Faith and provisional Minister of Science, the Lawgiver’s living vessel, Reverend Minister Sabian.”
Carried by six purple-vested postulants, a sedan chair made its way down the path. Called the Pontiff’s Seat, it was essentially a litter with an ornate throne of deep carob mahogany, violet velvet, and purple pillows. Seated proudly upon it in his regal vestments was Sabian. Still sickly, his color had not returned.
His bluster, however, was as healthy as ever.
* * *
Across the square, hidden atop the academy building, Quirinus readied his bow. The shaft was wrapped with an oiled rag, and he set it aflame. Weighed down by the rags, the shot would be a tricky one, worthy of another medal.
If I ever even get to compete again, he mused. If this didn’t go well, he’d likely be hanged alongside Zira.
* * *
Having reached the cordoned-off execution area, the postulates paused. Without leaving the litter, Sabian rose.
“My dear congregation,” the High Patriarch said as loudly as he could, “ape shall not kill ape. This is divine law, handed down to us from the Lawgiver Himself. The wisdom of that command is not in question, nor shall it ever be. Scripture teaches us to love thy neighbor, for is he not as simian as you?” Sabian raised one crooked claw. “But what if he—or she—is not? What if an ape is not always an ape?”
As he let that sink in, the crowd murmured.
“Sometimes a sickness grows within us—a leprosy that rots our bodies from the inside out. When that happens, the bad must be cut out lest it poison the good. It must be destroyed so that the rest of the body can live. That is what we are doing here today—cutting out a cancer and restoring Ape City to its former health.”
Of the assembled apes, orangutans applauded and gorillas agreed. The chimpanzees just stared.
“Do not mourn for this creature before you,” he continued, gesturing toward the prisoner, “for your community will be better with her passing.” Turning from the audience, he addressed the apostate herself.
“Dr. Zira,” Sabian proclaimed, “you are guilty of conspiracy, heresy, and treason. Your crimes are speaking out against The Sacred Scrolls, slanderous speech, and malicious actions against the betterment of apekind. Before the Lawgiver passes final judgment on you,” he inquired, “have you anything to say for yourself?”
Zira raised her chin in defiance.
“Just that sometimes peace is worth fighting for.”
A combination of gasps and laughter washed over the crowd.
“That is sad,” Sabian said. The High Patriarch nodded to Xirinius and the sub-chief signaled for the executioner. Coming up the stairs from inside the administrative building, the ape wore vermillion robes, ebony gloves, and a sable hood. He approached Zira, burlap sack in hand. Without a word, he covered her head.
I love you, Cornelius, she thought, weeping.
Noose in hand, the ape readied to rest it on her shoulders.
Quirinus stretched his bow.
“May the Lawgiver judge you kindly—” Sabian began.
The arrow flew.
“—for you are no ape.”
The projectile struck, catching the velvet chair aflame. Instantly the postulates panicked, dropping the sedan. Howling, Sabian spilled onto the ground, and the Pontiff’s Seat toppled over him. His sleeve ablaze, the High Patriarch violently waved his arm—an act that only fed the flame.
* * *
The crowd milled about in confusion. Some apes screamed, some ran, but most gawked at the fire. Cerek grabbed Sabian by the collar and pulled him out from under the burning chair, rolling him over and smothering his flames.
“Get the minister to safety!” he shouted. Four gorilla guards formed a shield around the High Patriarch, lifting him up and dragging him inside the nearby administrative offices. The postulates followed close on their heels.
“Everyone down!” Cerek bellowed to the crowd. Few heeded. He readied his rifle and scanned the rooftops, searching for the shooter. Catching movement on top of the academy labs, he hand-signaled his guards to investigate. As he neared the edge of the barricade, a female chimpanzee threw herself at him.
“Help!” she cried.
She seemed familiar.
“Don’t I know you?” Cerek demanded.
“Wild humans are on the loose!” Liet clutched at him. “And they talked, too!”
The indecisive audience heard that. Confusion turned to pandemonium. An orange-green sea swelled and swirled as orangutans and chimpanzees broke ranks to run amok.
“Talking humans!” they screamed. The roar of terror was palatable.
“Where?” Cerek bellowed over the din.
“There!” She pointed past the mob toward the far end of the square. A hay wagon pulled by four big horses galloped toward the barricades at full speed. “They’ve spooked the horses!”
* * *
They were massive black draft horses taken from Consus’s farm. Their powerful stride could crush any barricade or ape. Seraph drove them hard, aiming for the barriers. It was the apes she hoped to avoid.
“Give way,” she roared. “Runaway wagon!”
Gorillas dove and tumbled as the wagon plowed through the wooden rampart. Hooves trampled splintering pine. Loose hay flew from the wagon’s open back. The ebon horses roared as Seraph spurred them on. Avoiding the panicked masses, she slid the wagon into the procession route and steered toward the burning Pontiff’s Seat. Then she screamed.
Or at least pretended to. “Help!”
Everything depended on the police thinking her horses were out of control. The longer she could keep them confused, the better. More flaming arrows sailed into the square, hitting the awnings of vendors’ shop carts. Shoved apes cascaded over the barricades and into Seraph’s path.
“Get out of the way!” she shouted.
“Clear the area!” Cerek yelled.
Liet tugged at his tunic. “Save us!”
He pulled her off of him and wove through the crowd, barking at his gorillas. The police yanked apes out of the procession path. On cue, chimpanzee activists hidden in the crowd began pulling and pushing innocents out of the way of the oncoming wagon. Unbeknownst to the gorillas, they helped herd the innocent to safety.
Liet smiled. Others from their group distracted the few police still guarding the stocks. Cerek’s purloined keys in hand, she rushed over and began to free the protesters.
* * *
The spotters on the rooftops took action. As the runaway wagon rolled past, a guard leapt onto it. Barely catching his balance, he yelled at the driver.
“Give me the reins!”
“Help me!” Seraph responded. Sliding in the seat, she swiveled, planted both feet on his chest, and propelled him off the side. The dazed gorilla crashed into a fruit cart, sending opers and rutaberries flying.
“Sorry!” she called to him.
Above, a shot cracked as a bullet whizzed past Quirinus—one of the guards on another building had spotted him. Swiftly, he slid down the roof and over the side, landing right in the waiting arms of two gorillas. Clubs in hand, they beat him to submission.
* * *
“Who’s there?” Zira cried. “What’s happening?” Still covered with the burlap sack, she was entirely blinded.
“Shut up!” Xirinius ordered. As the wagon barreled toward their position, he unslung his rifle and took aim. Tossing the noose aside, the executioner tapped the gorilla on the shoulder.
“Say!” he said, his voice high. He cleared his throat, and it dropped an octave. “Say, you can’t shoot at that female, she’s innocent!” He pointed to the errant wagon. “Her horses are out of control!”
“I’m not shooting at her,” Xirinius said through gritted teeth. “I’m aiming for the horses.”
“Oh, I see,” the executioner replied. “Well then, watch your head!”
“What—” The masked a
pe yanked the keys off the officer’s belt and shoved. The sub-chief stumbled off the footbridge and plummeted into the running mob. The surge of apes quickly absorbed him.
The huge draft horses smashed through the burning sedan chair, showering fiery splinters and debris everywhere. The executioner yanked the sack off of Zira’s head before ripping his own hood from his.
“Surprise,” he said. “This is a rescue.” Zira twitched her nose. Cornelius pulled her close. “Okay, come on.” The wagon was almost there.
Zira gave him a quick peck.
“For luck,” she said.
From a nearby roof, a gorilla fired. Bullets sliced the air. The Security Police were on to them. From both ends of the overpass, guards bore down.
Seraph’s wagon passed beneath the footbridge. Zira’s eyes slammed shut.
Backward, the couple fell off the side of the footbridge—and into the hay-filled wagon. A grabbing gorilla fell into the cart with them, but fumbled and tumbled out the back.
Liet and her activists melted into the fleeing crowd. Seraph urged the horses past the last barricade and down the road, leaving fire and chaos in their wake.
* * *
Slow to give chase, the mounted police were finally gaining on them. Peering over the side, Cornelius gave Seraph an update.
“Now there’s four of them,” he shouted into the wind.
Zira sat up to get her bearings. Speeding along the forest route that led to the provinces, Seraph was coming up on a fork in the road. The right fork would take them to farmland. She steered to the left, leading them up the mountainside. The road would wind around the mountain, terminating at the old Kigor monastery. It was a dead end.
“Where are you going?” Zira called.
“Don’t worry about it,” Seraph replied, and she kept the vehicle going full tilt until they reached a curve in the mountain road. There she began to rein in the powerful animals.
“What are you doing?” Zira cried.
Suddenly, four figures dropped out of the trees.
* * *
Rounding the mountainside, the gorillas on horseback caught up with the wagon they were chasing. Without a fight, its driver slowed to a halt.
“Stop,” an officer shouted, “in the name of the Lawgiver!” Weapons drawn, the gorillas circled the wagon. Two of them dismounted to search it—but there were no chimpanzees in the back. There were none in the front, either. The wagon was driven by a female, but she was an elderly orangutan.
Death of the Planet of the Apes Page 29